


Dreary

by dreamattack



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Darkness, Death, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Paranoia, Possessive Behavior, Slow Romance, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-11-08 13:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 46,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11082939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamattack/pseuds/dreamattack
Summary: Josephine came to the United Kingdom looking for an escape from her dreary life back at home. Just as when she’s finished having the time of her life, she decides to look for a job somewhere in Northern Europe. She then comes across an advertisement that a family was urgently looking for a nanny to care and look after their sweet little boy. The girl quickly phones the number and gets hired immediately. Just as when she thought her luck has turned for the better, unbeknownst to her she’s getting more than what she’s bargained for.





	1. Exordium (Brahms' POV)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I would like to thank you for taking a glimpse at my little story.
> 
> I know that I’m a bit late, but I have watched Bell’s “The Boy” only now and the film has worked wonders with my imagination. The story, the setting, and the characters were all very lovely and I was so enchanted by the movie altogether that it’s only fair that I create a story to quell this restless feeling.
> 
> This is my first take on writing anything, so please do not hesitate to comment with the intention of aiding me and giving some constructive criticisms and/or helpful suggestions. English isn’t my mother tongue and writing literary fiction isn’t my forte. At all. So I will embrace all of everyone’s feedback warmly. 
> 
> Before, I have mentioned and led on that I have two stories in the works, but there was a change of plans and now  
> I aim to incorporate everything related to the movie here and maybe create a different story focusing on something else.
> 
> That means that this fic will have a lot of chapters and I’m excited to take on this journey with everyone!
> 
> Again, thank you for checking this little story of mine. I’m really grateful. Best regards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now, I have wrapped up a part in Brahm’s perspective which serves as a prequel to the main story.
> 
> I hope you would come to like my depiction of the man. :)
> 
> Once again, thank you for checking out my little story!

I woke up to the sound of the telephone as it echoed throughout the house. I opened my eyes slowly, staring at the bleak ceiling directly above me—adjusting my sight to the faint light that surrounded my abode as I waited for the sound to fade out. The device abruptly started chiming again as soon as it stopped, filling the empty halls with the dreadful noise once again.

Thinking about it, it’s rather been awhile since I’ve last heard the little gadget ring. If it was an advertisement, the people in the company should’ve stopped already. No one’s that persistent unless it’s personal business.

It didn’t take long enough for me to hear mummy’s kitten heels quickly tap on the floorboards as she scurried towards the device, putting an end to my misery.

I decided to get up from my bed, sauntering towards a dusty corner of my room—towering over a telephone of my own. I stared at it for awhile as boundless thoughts flooded my mind.

Who could be calling so early in the morning? I knew mummy or daddy wasn’t expecting a telephone call today… so it was probably from a stranger.

Pondering further, my thoughts brought me back to the day prior.

They told me that their wedding anniversary was coming up… and that they wanted to go on a holiday to celebrate their union. Of course, it meant that I was going to be left here at home all alone for quite some time, but before I could protest, they insisted that they would look for a nanny to take care of me while they were gone.

It was an endless cycle though; I was never really fond of the nannies they got me. I’m very much aware that I shouldn’t be picky with the basis of my situation, but I do know that I deserved even an ounce of genuine care.

All of them were absolutely unpleasant. From their looks… to their beliefs—some of them were superficial, arrogantly judging my family right after they have met ‘me.’ I couldn’t stand each of the previous nannies’ attitudes so I brought it upon myself to always scare them away with my antics.

My parents never gave up despite my outrageous behavior, though. They relentlessly kept looking—they really wanted this holiday.

The corners of my lips subtly curved upward as I anticipated the call to end before I could even pick it up. My parents always preferred to give out our address so that the caller would supposedly come over and talk to them in person, rather than communicate via the apparatus. Surprisingly, I could still hear mummy’s voice as she seems to attempt making an agreement with the person on the other side of the line.

My curiosity was simply too much to bear and I slowly picked up the handset and carefully placed it on the side of my head, listening in to their conversation.

“Are you sure, ma’am? Is it really alright for you to come and pick me up?”

It was a voice of a young woman. It was trembling over the line, probably a bit nervous but it was also soft and somewhat soothing. It was very pleasant to listen to.

Even though it was with a stranger, the thought of possibly possessing something in common made me happy; by now I was grinning to myself in delight.

It reminded me of how I didn’t like talking to others—not only because it was bothersome but it made me very anxious as well. No one would be interested in anything I have to say. Whenever I was forced to interact with guests, our conversations would always fall short, often turning one-sided; they would rather talk about themselves which was very tiresome to deal with…

I was brought back to my senses when mummy spoke up.

“Of course, dear… My husband and I could never afford the risk of letting you get lost on your way here. I’ll make the necessary arrangements now. I’ll see to it that a cab will come at you location and bring you here safe and sound.”

Hearing mummy’s voice even now still comforted me. I liked listening to her as she read me poems and stories. It would always soothe me whenever I was feeling down.

I assumed the girl on the other line thought of it as well as I noticed that her tone brightened up a little.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Heelshire…” the girl trailed off, leaving a brief moment of silence during their conversation. Hesitation held her voice back as she continued on with her statement in a rather sheepish tone.

“Though… can you please tell the driver that I’ll be by the bank? I need to get some money to pay for the fee.”

“Oh don’t be silly dear… you’re granting my family such a pleasure for working as our child’s nanny. Heaven forbid you burden yourself with the expenses.”

“Oh, Mrs. Heelshire, I couldn’t possibly do that…”

What mummy said made the girl giggle a bit, as if she wasn’t expecting her to be so generous; she must have felt very privileged.

Her laughter was like music to my ears—it was pure indulgence.

“I insist my dear,” mummy sounded like she was also smiling herself. A pleased sigh escape her lips as she continued to converse with the girl. This particular one seems nice… and I’m pretty sure mummy thinks so as well, judging by her behavior. “…my son will be so delighted to meet you.”

“Well, I’m excited to meet Brahms myself, ma’am.”

The call ended as they exchanged their farewells and I placed the handset of the telephone back on its proper place. I made my way back to my bed and sat myself as I drowned in my thoughts.

I couldn’t help but grimace at what the girl said. All of my previous nannies were like that at first. They were always excited to meet me as they expected a bright little boy to be taken under their care but as soon as my parents revealed who I really was, and what they were up against, their expressions would immediately change to that of pity—and mockery. It was very hurtful and insulting… disgusting even. It caused me to drive them away with my… playful nature.

I have to admit though, the way my name came from this girl sounded very natural. Her voice was enough to pique my curiosity—I’m already interested in her. I… want to know more about her; what she looks like, her mannerisms, her preferences, and her life before meeting mummy and daddy.

Though I couldn’t help but wonder if she would accept the job once she finds out the truth.

Suddenly, the thought of my last nanny comes to mind.

Her name was Greta, a native of the United States. Mummy said that I would adore her—she claimed that an American would be like a breath of fresh air since I’ve never met someone from another country before.

She was right.

The moment I saw Greta, I immediately thought she was impeccable. She was absolutely breathtaking in every way possible. She appeared smart, beautiful and strong—rebellious even; she was such a delight to contemplate on. I laid my back against the mattress as I closed my eyes leisurely, trying to remember her perfect face. I recalled her luscious brunette locks, her gorgeous emerald eyes, her sweet little nose, and her rosy lips…

A sigh escaped my mouth, taking pleasure in the wonderful image I was able to concoct.

Then a thought abruptly interrupted my imaginings.

Greta Evans was stunning alright, but she didn’t quite like the idea of taking care of a little boy away from civilization. I already knew that it would be challenging for any outsider to fathom our situation; I had that assumption because as soon as mummy and daddy finished demonstrating how she would look after me—among other things, the lady frankly said that she couldn’t do it… It would drive her insane to be left alone in the middle of nowhere in my company.

It was silly of me to sincerely think that she would be different.

Of course, mummy and daddy shared the same sentiments of sadness and disappointment but they appreciated her honesty nonetheless. They allowed her to leave peacefully without any hard feelings… Although they did remarked that Americans always had quite an aggressive impression on them and they both agreed back then that they wouldn’t consider getting me a nanny from the land of freedom anymore in the near future.

I chuckled softly as these memories ran through my head.

* * *

Mummy called out my name for breakfast, but of course she was referring to someone else. Ever since that unfortunate incident, she only preferred the romanticized—perfect, timeless version of me. Oh how she loved the untainted porcelain doll she and daddy got after my little accident a few years prior. She would constantly pour out her affection towards the inanimate object, as if it was actually me. At times, I would envy the little thing, as it effortlessly won the favor of both if my parents while I, on the other hand did so much to impress them; it was never really the same.

I was so consumed with my thoughts that after awhile, I could already hear mummy and daddy’s footsteps as they went up the stairs; that was my cue to go down to the kitchen and eat my breakfast.

Whenever it was just the three of us, without a nanny—without watchful eyes, they didn’t save my meals inside the freezer. Instead, they would go on ahead and have their meal with my plastic persona and leave a plate for me on the table to eat later on.

My mornings were always this desolate.

I arrived at the kitchen, eyeing an abundant plate of viands waiting for me. It contained some smoked ham, fried eggs, and buttered toast—a glass of juice also greeted me placidly beside it. I felt my mouth water as I sat down and ate the food slowly, savoring every moment of it; I was aware that this might as well be the last time I’ll have a meal freshly made from the kitchen since the girl from earlier will be coming anytime soon.

My mind drifted off once more, the thought of my parents’ distant behavior became evident when I started mutating. My burnt skin from the fire wasn’t enough of a deformity to satisfy the demons in hell; my height increased significantly, my hands and feet were getting bigger as well and hairs were growing everywhere on my body. I felt strange during that time and hated every aspect of it—especially when mummy looked very heartbroken when my voice became different.

The shame I felt back then was enough freight for me to create a porcelain mask—its features similar to that of the doll’s—to hide my wretched appearance and practice modulating my voice a few times, trying to regain my old, child-like tone.

My efforts came to fruition when we met each other unexpectedly at the lounge way back.

The look they gave me made my skin crawl; it was as if… they were afraid of me. I recalled how mummy and daddy stared at me agonizingly for what seemed like forever as I froze in my place, my tummy churning painfully due to the immense tension. I thought back then that it was my one and only moment to try and possibly have everything back to normal.

I avoided their gaze and slowly got the porcelain mask that has been sitting inside the pocket of my loose cardigan and wore it. They didn’t flinch at all as I did so—I then opted to follow my actions with an apology with a putrid imprecision of what used to be my voice as a child… as if it served any substance.

As soon as they realized what I was attempting to do, mummy gave me a weak smile whilst daddy told me that it was alright. Unfortunately, before I could command my form to approach them, he ushered me to go back to my room rather than call out to me for a hug.

That memory reminded me how much my existence morphed into something… different. I knew that I was appalling but I had no idea back then how repulsive I have truly become until mummy and daddy started to treat me like I was some inhumane fink—we’ve never done anything intimate anymore unlike back when I was a child.

I was truly cursed.

By now, I got used to the isolation and every so often, when I’m all alone in my room… I rarely removed the mask as if it was already a part of my skin.

Making mummy and daddy sad again would bring me such despair.

I took the last bite of my meal and got up as I felt the cold pale tiles against my sole. I ran the tap water over the stained plate and glass as I grabbed the sponge, pouring some dishwashing liquid and squeezed the foam gingerly until some suds formed around my hand. After I rinsed and washed the utensils, I wiped it with a kitchen towel and placed it inside the cupboard.

I frowned slightly at the memories that were threatening to resurface and made my way back to my room. I tried to push my thoughts at the back of my mind but my head had started to pulsate against my skull.

My eyes began to form tears as I clenched my head in a flimsy attempt to remedy my headache. It was so painful… mummy used to comfort me when these migraines would occur but now…

My little recollection was interrupted as I heard someone rang our doorbell. I breathed in and out, thankful for that little distraction. I was now focused—and curious as to whom our guest was.

Was it the girl on the telephone?

As if on cue, daddy called my name as his footsteps indicated that he was on his way to the lounge. It was time for his usual preaches about proper etiquette before greeting house guests.

“Brahms, my boy, I need you to be on your best behavior alright?” he whispered as he stared at the doll, straightening its tie as it sat on the couch. As always, I listened to his little moment quietly from start to finish, remembering the times how I used to receive candy for my outstanding decorum.

As soon as he’s done, he gave the doll a small smile. I missed it when he used to smile at me with adoration in their eyes… now he looks at me as if I was a stranger.

Mummy briefly joined us as she kissed the figurine’s pale forehead and made her way to down the stairs.

I silently followed her as I watched her through the mirror at the foyer. She straightened herself before she greeted the person that had apparently arrived at the front of our house.


	2. Formalities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I took so long to post again. Work wanted all of my attention but it's now the weekend and it's time to update! Expect a few more within the short vacation! :)
> 
> Thank you again for taking the time to read this.

I nervously fidgeted as I stood at the front door, waiting for the Heelshires to open. I decided to patch myself up while doing so—brushing a few strands of my fringe away from my face and tied my hair into a ponytail, pushed my glasses up on the bridge of my nose, and bit my bottom lip, trying to splash color onto my lips.

Dressing up was the least of my priorities, but I tried my best to look presentable, wearing the least casual clothes that I had in my luggage. I wore a simple white button-up blouse that had some blue floral embroidery at my right chest, its sleeves were rolled up until my forearms were exposed, and my wrists were bare; I debated for awhile as to whether I should wear a skirt or some black jeans, but the latter won my favor. For footwear, I wore some comfortable grey socks and brown boots. I also took out the necklace that was sitting in between my skin and the fabric to appear more appealing

My get up may be a bit too plain for the people I’m meeting but I always remembered that simplicity is key.

I reached for my cellular phone at the back pocket of my jeans and pressed hard against the power button to switch it off. It would be rude if Mrs. Heelshire was demonstrating something that I needed to do and my gadget suddenly decides to distract us—though the reception around the property wasn’t that fantastic.

It was a few days back when I saw the advertisement that a family was looking for a nanny to take care of their child. I saw it as an opportunity since occupations in the provincial side of Europe were hard to find especially since I came from another country.

Honestly, this must be sign from up above that things are turning out for the better since the process was effortlessly easy and they haphazardly hired me. The preliminaries were done via telephone call which I didn’t really expect in this day and age. It was a bit weird, but I do admit that I like the old-fashioned couple that I managed to converse with on the line.

When they gave me their address, I tried to look for their location on my cellular phone’s GPS application. I felt anxious when I couldn’t find it at all, getting the impression that they lived in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t really fond of getting lost so I immediately called the Heelshires once more to ask for help. To my surprise, they were very much willing to help me and even pay for the expenses. They were really generous and I couldn’t wait to meet these wonderful people. They seemed really warm and they made me comfortable in my decision to take the job; I felt complacent to be honest.

Well, that was before I was in front of their house. When I got out of the cab, I suddenly remembered that I wasn’t really into meeting new people. In fact, it was one of those activities that I would always purposely avoid, despite the consequences. I even backpacked the towns in the Europe on my own because didn't want to burden anyone with my clumsiness and lack of sense of direction.

I had to be courageous this time, though. I’m taking this job so that I can have something to actually look forward to during my twenties. I wasn’t particularly pleased as to what my life had become after I finished college. So after losing the one person I loved the most, I hopped on a plane and left my country.

Sure, the children I taught and played along with were all endearing and all, but I desired to do something different. I wanted to pacify my insatiable uneasiness. I want to feel happy and content when I look back at this time of my life—that I didn’t just settle to stay at home and went on with life like anyone else in my country. I wanted my twenties to be the prime of my life.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I thought about what I had been doing since I came to Europe. I took up elementary education and worked as a preschool teacher for quite some time back at home. It was a very strenuous job so I told myself that I wouldn’t handle children any time soon and that I would take on different labors.

I did do that though, I took on occupations that accepted expats. I had a job as a secretary doing nothing but tedious desk work, helped Antoinette with her succulents and plants at her flower shop by the pub, and placed price tags on fruits and vegetables on the local grocery shop. I immediately got used to the dreary lifestyle each job had and wanted something else again. I needed a new distraction.

It was at the local grocery which was handled by Malcolm, where I first saw the advert. It was also he who urged me to give the Heelshires a call as he implied that they needed all the help that they need. Apparently, he was an acquaintance of the elderly couple—a good friend even.

I was brought back to reality when the door creaked open and the wooden plank turned to the side exposing a very dimly lit hall that led almost into nothingness. The facade of the structure already screamed old and vintage, but I didn’t think that the inside of the house would be so dark in comparison to the bright sunny September weather outside.

Maybe the couple didn’t rely much on the light. I immediately worried about how they would eventually flake on me for turning almost all of the lights in their household on when nightfall comes.

That wouldn’t do… Maybe I could borrow a flashlight…

“…or a candle,” I whispered, smiling at myself at the thought. It could be possible that they didn’t own any modern equipment based from their set-up; an elderly couple living in an eerie old mansion in the middle of nowhere whose speech and mannerisms exemplify dignified. Not to mention their son’s only around eight... I presume; too young to know the wonders of the internet.

I looked up as soon as I heard footsteps tap on the floor.

“Ah, there she is.” I was greeted by an elderly woman, all dressed up in vintage garb. I blinked a few times, staring at my employer; her features were aged, yet beautiful.

She was probably Mrs. Heelshire from the sound of her voice. I smiled at her, bowing my head as a form of habit. She tilted her head slightly, somewhat taken aback at my gesture yet gave off an impression that suggested curiosity.

Well, there goes giving away my foreign heritage.

After I lift up my head, she approached me with open arms, embracing me before she chuckled a bit and welcomed me. The elderly woman eyed me up and down before moving away from the entrance, indicating that I could enter their home.

“Please come in, miss…”

“My name’s Josephine, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face.” I said as I walked in carefully, carrying my luggage and placed it near the coat rack gingerly. Mrs. Heelshire closed the front door behind me and took my free hand—giving it a little squeeze.

“The pleasure’s all mine, darling…” she trailed off, staring at my hand as she rubbed her thumb against my knuckles.

I gave her a small smile as I withdrew my hand as soon as she released it, clasping them tightly together.

“Now, please do make yourself at home. We were anticipating your arrival.” All I could do was nod at her meekly as she turned around and started walking. The elderly woman wasted no time, walking hurriedly as I silently followed her, my eyes fixated on the back of her ankles.

“Brahms had a lot of nannies in the past, Miss Josephine.” She looked over her shoulder, smiling at me. It seemed like she was really fond of talking about her own son. “…but I’m afraid he’s a bit particular about who takes care of him.”

I swallowed nervously at her last statement. What if the little boy doesn't like me? It might take awhile before he warms up to me then…

As we ascended to the stairs, I got distracted by numerous photographs and animal heads that adorned the walls; some were family pictures while some were aged and faded photos of a young boy. I examined the hall, eyeing the lanterns that illuminated the hunting trophies probably owned by Mr. Heelshire.

The overall atmosphere was quite haunting but it also felt somewhat very homey. I stopped on my tracks as I saw a huge family portrait at the center of the end of the stairs. It was a painting of the Heelshires, and judging by their youthful ambiance, they had this done a few decades ago—though the acrylic still remained so strikingly vibrant; the family probably had the piece refined each time the color starts to dull out.

Mrs. Heelshire called out my name softly as she opened the door to a much brighter room than that of the hall. I scurried towards her a bit flustered; I could’ve stopped to look around after she’d show me around. The elderly woman hummed in a tone that I could make of as amusement as we entered the lounge.

I was greeted by the sight of an elderly man hunched low as he knelt in front of a couch; he was murmuring to who I could assume was Brahms. All I could hear from their whispers was that he requested for the little boy to promise to be on his best behavior.

I furrowed my brow and smiled to myself a bit, remembering my previous pupils at the preschool I used to work at. Working there cemented the fact that all children are indeed very playful, no doubt about that… I'm sure even an aristocratic little fellow like Brahms would hide some mischief up his sleeve.

My lips were stretched into a grin as I timidly trailed behind Mrs. Heelshire. The elderly man stood up and straightened himself as he stood in front of the chair, blocking my view of the boy. The couple expressed their admiration for Brahms as the boy seemed to look smart and handsome in his outfit.

“Daddy,” Mrs. Heelshire called, causing the elderly man to look at me. I noticed that his gaze seemed to linger on my face, causing blood to rush on my cheeks and my eyes to avert his icy blue ones. I could never really get used to having eye contact with other people.

“Miss…”

“O-oh, its Josephine, sir…”

“Miss Josephine…” Mr. Heelshire greeted me with a somewhat worried look on his face.

Nevertheless I bowed my head again, greeting him. Mrs. Heelshire smiled at the similar gesture, probably understood that it was a custom from where I came from. I smiled at the couple and eyed the couch behind the elderly man. It took Mr. Heelshire long enough to move away from where he stood and exposed the little boy.

“This is our son, Brahms.”

I blinked a few times; taking in that was before me. What was sitting on the couch wasn’t in fact a real boy but a gorgeous porcelain doll. It had jet black plastic hair which was combed neatly to the side, cold hard skin as pale as the moon, and a face which was almost close to that of a beautiful boy’s.

I get it…

My heart sank as a heavy feeling weighed on my chest… Oh, what a tragedy…

As soon as I tore away my gaze at the doll, the Heelshires were waiting for me to greet their so-called son.

I took a step forward, bent a bit whilst taking the small porcelain hand and shook it, smiling at the doll.

“Nice to meet you, Brahms,” I cooed, “I hope we’d get along.”

The couple seemed very pleased as they hummed in approval and immediately carried on with the agenda. Mrs. Heelshire clasped her hands together in delight as she mentioned that my training starts today while Brahms was carried outside the room by Mr. Heelshire, stating that they needed to have a little more man-to-man talk.

The afternoon went by quickly as each of the Heelshires showed me around the property, guiding me as to what my daily routine would consist of from now on. I found it manageable so far. The sun began to sink and it was already around 6 o’clock when Mrs. Heelshire finished Brahms’ curriculum.

* * *

I insisted that I would prepare dinner for the family as a token of my gratitude for their hospitality. I decided to make some roast tenderloin with buttered corn and potato crisps. I was a bit nervous though, I’ve never really cooked something as hearty as this and when I tasted it, the food seemed okay. Well, alright to me at least. I just hope the taste would come to their liking.

I was about to leave the kitchen when Mrs. Heelshire entered the room and made her way to the sink to wash her hands. She gave me a small smile as she inhaled the smell that was lingering in the kitchen—she was pleased by the aroma.

“Do not forget to save the excess inside a canister dear…” she commented as she wiped her hands with a disposable paper towel and went back to the dining hall. I nodded as I placed the plate of food I transferred from the casserole on the counter, allowing it to cool down while we ate.

Our meal was quiet, only the clanging of our cutlery and the occasional humming of delight from the couple could be heard.

Of course Brahms didn’t touch his food; he sat across from me, his lifeless eyes fixated on me during the entire course as I masticated the mixture of viands in my mouth. I stared back at him while I washed away all of the food with water—waiting for the doll to blink.

The couple finished their meal earlier and patiently waited for me to finish. I felt a shiver run down my spine; I was never really one of those people who liked all the attention on themselves. I picked up the napkin from my lap and wiped my mouth against the white fabric. I smiled at the elderly couple and got up, grabbing the tray and collected everyone’s plates.

I made my way to the kitchen and placed the tray on the counter, grabbing the dirty plates and placed them on the sink along with the casserole and saucepan earlier. I placed the drainage plug and ran the tap water so that when I get back to them, the stains wouldn’t be so hard to rinse off. I opened the cupboard to get a plastic container for Brahms’ leftovers.

As I made my way back to the counter, I was surprised at what was awaiting me.

The plate of excess food that I was trying to cool down was gone. I immediately tried to remember if either of the couple had seconds. The moment I realized that none of us had seconds, nor went back to the kitchen to get any condiments or utensils, I felt my chest tightened a little bit.

Did Mrs. Heelshire stow away the food already? I was so sure that the elderly couple sat down with me at the dining hall the entire time, so I highly doubt it. Regardless of that fact, I walked towards the freezer, checking its insides just in case my assumptions were wrong.

I slowly lift the lid up and I was only greeted by some bags of ice cubes and cold meat. I quickly had the inkling that maybe there was someone else at home; like a driver, or gardener, or chamber maid. Then again, when the couple showed me around there was no indication of other people living in the residence besides the two.

I felt my body go weak—paralyzed at the thought. A vermin could never eat anything so neatly—unless the rodent digested the plate along with it. I thought so hard about what could’ve happened until Mrs. Heelshire walked in to my confused state.

“Oh, h-hi Mrs. Heelshire…” I greeted with a cracked voice. Mrs. Heelshire smiled at me as she entered the room, probably checking as to what I was up to; I looked down to my feet, trying to calm myself down. I shouldn’t let my imagination run wild. She probably noticed my pale face as she drew closer.

“What’s the matter dear?” she consoled me, trying to find out what was wrong. I hesitated a bit, unsure of what I was about to say. The thought of lying about breaking a glass or something crossed my mind, but my gaze was glued on the counter and my behavior gave the truth away.

As soon as the elderly lady realized what I was so worried about, the color from her face was gone. She immediately excused herself and told me to continue on with my task and quickly called after Mr. Heelshire. I could then their shoes climb the stairs with hurried steps—followed by the sound of a door slamming shut.

After cleaning up, I went up to check on the couple. I saw them at Brahms’ room and knocked at the door frame making my presence known. The Heelshires looked over their shoulder anxiously and smiled weakly at me; I gave them a small nod in return.

“Oh dear… please excuse our son’s behavior.” Mr. Heelshire said as his expression was filled with sadness. I knew something weird happened tonight but they didn’t have to make such a big deal out of it.

I felt terrible for the couple… Maybe spending their time isolated from society has taken its toll on them.

The elderly man then added, “It was Brahms… He was the one who played tricks on you when he… hid the plate of food.”

I bit my lip silently as I looked down. They didn’t really need to apologize of something as infinitesimal as this. “Uhm… you know Mr. Heelshire, its okay, really. I was just… surprised. That’s all.”

Mrs. Heelshire hushed me, as if what I said was very frivolous and unnecessary. “Brahms was a very bad boy tonight, Miss Josephine… despite his promise that he would be on his best behavior.”

I couldn’t believe it; their expressions reflected disappointment and shame… as if the doll was really a naughty human child. Maybe I can make them feel better if I showed that what Brahms did wasn’t really severe like they make it out to be.

“Uhm, I hope the both of you could let this go…”

The couple was now staring at me, putting me on the hot seat. I felt my throat went dry for a bit then continued despite my fading, trembling voice. “I know children can get really playful and… compared to the children I handled at my previous job uhm… I really don’t mind… at all.”

The Heelshires looked at each other visibly shocked at my remark. They then let out a sigh of relief whilst stroking the porcelain doll’s hair. Mrs. Heelshire approached me and pulled me in for a hug. She looked at me with a spark of contentment in her eyes.

“I knew you would understand… You’re perfect for our little Brahms.”

Mr. Heelshire seemed to agree as he vehemently shook my hand as well. The elderly couple then asked if they could have a word in private with their little boy—which was something I could never deprive them of. I nodded quickly and went outside Brahms’ room as the elderly woman closed the door behind me.

I stood there awkwardly staring at the door. I forgot to ask if I was done for the day or not. I rocked back and forth against the wall, greatly anticipating the cozy warm bath I would indulge myself later on. I also reminded myself to unpack my luggage which was probably still situated at the entrance of the house by the parlor.

After a few moments, the couple opened the door and was smiling ear to ear. I was soon pulled in to another embrace, but this time it was with both of the Heelshires. They were so happy that I couldn’t break away from their embrace just yet; it was as if they were celebrating something.

“It’s just so wonderful, Miss Josephine. Brahms likes you… he’ll have you if you’ll have him.”

What they said was kind of weird but it didn’t matter. I grinned at them, mumbling a quick thank you before patting their backs. I couldn’t help but jump into the bandwagon as well—their mood obviously rubbing off on me.

“No, thank you, dear. You have saved us all.” The couple smiled once more before letting me retreat to my room.


	3. Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry if it's a bit short, but I'm trying to create the build-up as leverage.
> 
> Thank you again for reading!

I carried my luggage up to my room as quietly as I can, trying not to wake up any of the Heelshires. I knew they were tired not only physically, but mentally as well—taking care of Brahms required strength, after all. They’ve convinced themselves that a porcelain doll was actually their little boy.

I tried not to think much of it as I sat down on the carpeted floor to unpack my things, slowly removing every piece of clothing I owned from the case and placed it on the mattress next to me. I realized that my movements were very lax and I needed a diversion to help me finish unpacking at least the essentials first.

As if on cue, my cellular phone lit up, distracting me from my activity. It revealed a message from Catherine—a good friend of mine.

I met her a few years ago when we were only teenagers. At first we never really had the chance to talk but when we finally did, we immediately clicked; it was like we were sisters that were separated at birth. From then on we did everything together, went on adventures, tried making different cuisines, and helped each other with our theses.

That was until we got separated again because her family wanted her to live with them in the United States.

Occasionally, we would hit each other up, when she’s in town back at home and when I started this little journey of mine. She accompanied me all throughout, until her family wanted her to come back home again—which led to me backpacking the rest of Europe on my own.

We exchanged a few messages until my body felt groggy. I decided it’s time for my much awaited bath; I held onto the foot board of the bed for support as I got up on my feet—grabbing my toiletries and headed towards the bathroom.

One thing I liked about this room was that I had a separate bathroom all to myself. I grinned at the thought of no one interrupting me during my indulgent soaks in the future.

The bathroom was white and pristine, like the family never had any visitors who stayed in for the night. Everything seemed old-fashioned except for the toilet and bathtub which appeared a little bit modern. I closed the seat cover of the toilet and placed my things there, thinking I was too lazy to organize the lavatory tonight. I sat on the edge of the tub as I fill it with water, humming to the sound of the liquid running out of the faucet.

I ran my hand through the lukewarm fluid to see if it was just right—I preferred cold baths better, though; I had no choice, I'd get sick if I did. I stood up and undressed myself, reaching for the shower curtain as I slowly descended into suds heaven.

I didn’t know that I was exhausted myself until I dipped and enveloped my body around the soapy water. At first, I tried playing with the bubbles but after a few moments, I reached for my cellular phone and opened my playlist of classical music. I scrolled through the list, looking for a soothing piece. I turned up the volume of my gadget’s speakers to maximum, ticked the shuffle on, played Franz Liszt’s Liebesträume No.3, and placed it on the vacant soap dish.

“Tomorrow will be a very busy day, as the Heelshires will leave for their holiday…" I hummed mindlessly as I closed my eyes whilst the melody starts—no longer fighting the urge to stay awake.

* * *

I jerked up as I awoke, scanning the room in panic—I wasn’t in the bathroom anymore. It was already morning and the sun’s rays were beaming against the thick curtains of my room’s windows. I tried to remember what exactly happened last night since I specifically recall falling asleep in the tub listening to Liszt. If that was true, I should still be in the tub, all soaked up and with a stuffy nose for staying in the water for too long, but I was instead on my bed, wearing nothing but a white towel underneath the covers.

I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down. I didn't like it when I woke up in a confused _—_ angry state. This would always happen when I'm half-asleep; unbeknownst to my surroundings and later barely having any recollection of my previous endeavors. I was no less like a drunken person who had too much to drink.

Sitting around started to irritate me so I got up and walked towards the bathroom, biting my lip in anticipation.

I opened the door, seeing everything was left as it was in my dream last night. My toiletries were left untouched, and my cellular phone's battery was drained from playing music nonstop. I slowly approached the still moist mirror and wiped the surface with my palm. I tried to get a better glimpse of my morning glory, but I thought I saw a shadow passed by behind me when I rubbed my eyes. I furrowed my brows, obviously growing frustrated at my situation; my visual impairment wasn't helping at all.

Was I seeing things? I was abruptly reminded of my little vision beforehand.

Was that all… really a dream? I was still in a daze before I could properly process what has happened when I closed the door behind me. I glimpsed at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was only five-thirty in the morning. Great, I still have time to brush up and make sense of all of this. It's a no-brainier that it could've been any of the Heelshires that pulled me out of the water and tucked me into bed,but the old couple looked really frail and weak to carry someone like me.

As my mind started to mush different theories altogether _—_ threatening for it to implode, I rushed back inside the bathroom and took a brisk shower to calm my nerves. I shouldn't be this agitated first thing in the morning; it wouldn't do me any good if I end up in a sour mood over something as fundamentally trivial as this. I stretched a bit and finished unpacking what's left of my luggage before getting dressed. I put on a simple peach dress shirt, a pair of khaki pants, beige socks and wore some loafers. I could already hear the footsteps of the elderly couple as they paced back and forth the hall, probably checking whether they packed everything they needed for their holiday.

Suddenly, there was a knock on my door—it was Mrs. Heelshire. She wore a burgundy dress under a tan trench coat, while her flesh pantyhose covered her legs and burgundy kitten heels, which matched her garments, were her choice of footwear. The elderly woman also wore some light make-up, following a neutral scheme and a burgundy lipstick to accentuate her features.

I smiled at her as we both made our way to Brahms’ room. The elderly woman wanted to be the one to wake and dress up the doll in order to slip in her final farewells for the holiday so I stood at the door frame, watching Mrs. Heelshire before Mr. Heelshire came up behind me and gave me a little spook.

“Good morning, my dear. Pardon the intrusion, but Mrs. Heelshire and I must be on our way.” I nodded as I followed the elderly man throughout the hall, listening carefully to his reminders. “I know how this must look to you, Miss Josephine, and to be completely honest, I’m not sure how it all came to this…”

I waited patiently for the man to continue. Mr. Heelshire didn’t utter a word as he took out a few pieces of paper from the breast pocket of his coat and handed them to me.

“I only wish we had an opportunity to explain to you the vicissitudes of a child as unique as our Brahms.” He laughed anxiously, obviously excited to be off. I gave him a timid smile as he continued, “…but you’ll learn to pick it up, I’m sure.”

The elderly man gave me some time to read the papers; I skimmed through the material and surely enough the gist I could make of it was that it was a set of rules around the house and Brahms’ daily schedule. I smiled at how the couple seemed to look out for my well-being, being kind enough to leave some sort of manual to guide me during their absence.

“I know it may be a bit silly, but it is important that you follow the rules because… Brahms is not like other children.” I nodded quietly at Mr. Heelshire as I was taken aback at the statement. I wonder if he seriously meant that. Before I could ask him anything about it, he added something that cemented my previous assumption.

“Whatever it may look on the outside, our son is here Miss Josephine… He’s very much with us… You have to be good to him… Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Heelshire. I do.” I beamed at the elderly man, earning a toothy grin back.

“Good, good! Oh that’s very good!” Mr. Heelshire's expression brightened up a bit as we descended down the sturdy, mahogany stairs.

We made our way to the foyer and saw Mrs. Heelshire with the doll. Mr. Heelshire gestured that it was time for their departure so Mrs. Heelshire handed me Brahms—she looked a bit uneasy, probably because it’s been a long time since they had a holiday; her fondness of the doll visibly more prominent than her husband’s. After doing so, she pulled me into an embrace, tenderly whispering an apology before heading towards the taxicab.

The cabbie packed all of the couple’s belongings inside the trunk and firmly closed it, making his way to close the passenger’s door as well. The taxicab began to move as I smiled and waved at the elderly couple while they gave me… reluctant smiles in return. I pushed the thought away at the back of my mind as I watched the vehicle fade into the forest as my isolation in this country home begins.


	4. Peculiarities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) :) :)

I sat Brahms down on the nearby chair inside the parlor as I leaned against the wall, picking up a clipboard and organized the papers the Heelshires gave me. I surveyed the documents more meticulously now that I have all the time in the world, taking in every piece of information it contained.

“Okay, let’s see what’s in store for me…” I pushed up my glasses to get a better view of the reading material.

A schedule was written on the first page and is as follows:

  * 7:00 AM – 8:00 AM: Wake and dress Brahms
  * 8:00 AM – 9:00 AM: Breakfast
  * 9:00 AM – 10:00 AM: Physical Exercise
  * 10:00 AM – 11:00 AM: Chores
  * 11:00 AM – 12:00 NN: Play Time
  * 12:00 NN – 1:00 PM: Lunch
  * 1:00 PM – 4:00 PM: School (Reading, Music Appreciation, Language, and History)
  * 5:00 PM – 6:00 PM: Clean the Traps
  * 7:00 PM – 8:00 PM: Dinner
  * 9:00 PM – 10:00 PM: Bath Time
  * 10:00 PM – 11:00 PM: Bed Time



I knew I couldn’t follow the time duration for each task, but I could manage. It wouldn’t hurt to bend it a bit, right? It’s not like I was actually with a child and I’m not going to dilapidate anything—I’m sure Brahms would appreciate stirring away from his mundane lifestyle as well.

I turned the paper, my eyes settling on the next page.

“Hmm, quite a list you have here, Brahms.” I glanced at the doll, before reading it silently.

RULES

  1. No guests
  2. Never leave Brahms alone
  3. Save meals in the freezer
  4. Never cover Brahms’ face
  5. Read a bedtime story
  6. Play music loud
  7. Clean the traps
  8. Only Malcolm brings deliveries
  9. Brahms is never to leave
  10. Kiss goodnight



I hummed in approval as I appreciated that the rules weren’t that difficult to follow. I wasn’t really a social butterfly so I agreed with some aspects of the list and I loved that I was allowed to blast music throughout the house. The rest of the rules were some of the things that I did to pacify my pupils back then who clung onto me like I was their own mother, so it wasn't much of a big deal.

My smile disappeared when I heard treading upstairs. I looked up at the ceiling, waiting for the sound to fade as my heart raced against my chest. I knew this house would creak from time to time but I didn’t expect it to be that loud.

I let out an exasperated chuckle.

This is ridiculous… I’m the only person in this large house right now…

I looked down at the doll beside me, scrutinizing it; it was sitting in its place innocently, minding its own business.

My hand stroked the doll’s jet black hair then cupping its small face as I tried to piece everything together. Brahms probably had an accident back when he was alive and the elderly couple never got over it. I sighed in dismay—reminded of the tragedy that happened to the family.

Maybe I’m babysitting the ghost of their child…

I shouldn’t over think things, I would only scare myself. As impossible as it sounds, it was probably just a rodent, not to mention a very big one at that.

In order to get rid of the eerie feeling, I decided to put on some music.

I turned my attention to the old yet functioning gramophone. Beside it was a cabinet filled with musical vinyl records—all appeared to be thoroughly kempt. I trailed my finger on each one, looking for something calming. I smiled as I took out Tchaikovsky’s Valse Sentimentale; as far as I could remember, it was a strange, sad, yet beautiful piece. It was as if the composer lost something very valuable to him.

I took out the wide disk and placed it on the device’s turntable and worked up the crank a few times before delicately putting the reproducer on the object.

“I hope you like Tchaikovsky, Brahms.”

I carried Brahms into my arms and swayed against the music as we made our way to the kitchen. I had some general cleaning to do so I need to grab some breakfast first. I placed him down on one of the chairs by the counter and got out two plates from the cupboard. I didn’t have the appetite right now so I settled for a variety of fruits for breakfast.

I waltzed towards the refrigerator and took out some apples, bananas and grapes. I ran the apples and grapes under the tap water, wiping the scrumptious apples with a table cloth while I placed the luscious grapes onto a strainer, before setting both fruits on the chopping board as I peeled the bananas.

The tune started to fade, but I was preoccupied with slicing the fruits to change the melody. After a few moments of deafening silence, Dmitri Shostakovich’s Jazz Suite, Waltz No. 2 started to play.

I stopped on my tracks, the knife embedded in the apple. I turned my head, glancing over my shoulder to check on the doll, still sitting diligently on the chair, staring into nothingness. I slowly resumed my task, ignoring my brewing sentiments.

Maybe the disk was a collection? I can’t really remember the cover of the case, but who would mush up Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich together?

I breathed in and out heavily, trying to eradicate my uneasiness when I then heard creaking sounds somewhere in the house again. I couldn’t stand it any longer; I impaled the wooden board with the knife, washed my hands and made my way to the parlor. My footsteps were sloppy, thumping against the floor hastily—I made a sharp turn as I approached my destination and cocked my head in the room.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” I looked around, trying to find anything out of place. Unfortunately, there was no sign of anyone inside the space. I made my way to the gramophone, picking up the case of the vinyl record.

My breathing paused as the cover was different from what I pulled out earlier. Tchaikovsky’s vinyl was back inside the cabinet and was replaced by Shostakovich’s. I turned the music off and placed the disk back inside the cabinet.

My head started to pound as I grew more confused. My legs felt like they were melting and I held onto the top rail of the chair nearby for support. Maybe I was just hungry—I haven’t had breakfast after all.

Yes, that’s right; my hunger caused my mind to subconsciously play tricks with me.

“Hmm…”

I didn’t really buy my conclusion, but I know that I shouldn’t dwell on these things; I mustered up all the strength I had to go back to the kitchen.

When I arrived, the fruits were neatly arranged on two separate plates on the counter. One was in front of Brahms while the other was in front of a vacant chair.

“Seriously, what’s going on?”

I was in deep thought that I didn’t perceive a figure standing at the edge of the counter; I only took notice in my peripheral vision when it placed something down on the table. I jumped at the action, turning my attention to it.

It was Malcolm, my previous employer at the grocery shop, smirking at me. As much as I hated how smug he was, I was honestly relieved to see him. I’ve now convinced myself that it was him who was fooling around with me.

“Malcolm, I could’ve died, you jerk!” I cracked as my voice was a bit shrill. I placed my palm on my chest, trying to calm my heart down. It was a Friday; I remembered he used to deliver goods to the Heelshires back then when I was under him, sticking price tags on the fruits and vegetables.

“Delivery,” the man smiled, somewhat amused at my reaction. I laughed nervously as he continued, “I never thought you’d actually take the job, Josephine.”

“Well… I like it here.” I huffed, still trying to regulate my breathing. I glanced at the doll that was before us.

“It’s quiet here and there’s no one around.”

“Yeah, I remember much of you being the type to never really like being around a lot of people.” Malcolm hummed, nodding as he crossed his arms. He knew that I preferred living in solitude that’s why he assigned me at the back of the grocery and did what I did. I smiled sheepishly at him, unable to deny his claim as he opened the box he brought and took out the bags of goods the Heelshires typically ordered every week.

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

I took the potatoes and made my way to the vegetable drawer as Malcolm placed some condiments in the cupboard. One fell and rolled on the floor as I placed the others in the compartment in a pouring motion. I sighed under my breath and crouched down, looking for the potato. Malcolm tapped my shoulder and handed me the crop, smiling at me playfully as I clumsily placed it with the others and pushed the drawer, closing it.

“So… how are you?” I asked as I stood up, dusting my knees. We haven’t seen each other for a while and I wanted to catch up as well. The last thing I heard from him was that he started courting the new American girl in town, Greta.

Malcolm contemplated, trying to recall what he last told me about himself. He grinned at me, like he always did and started, “Still basking in the hustle and bustle of our little town.”

I nodded, taking a piece of fruit and munched on it as he placed a loaf in the bread container. He took a piece as well, popped it in his mouth—savoring the banana’s flavor—before continuing, “You see… Greta and I are doing pretty swell these past few days.”

By the time he finished his statement, he was beaming. I smiled back at him, happy that he finally asked the girl out after consulting me about it numerous times back at the shop.

“I think it’s serious,” he mused, a spark in his eyes. “She’s warming up to me.”

A crash suddenly echoed upstairs, making the both of us jump.

“Don’t worry about it. I-it’s probably the September wind blowing too hard.” I said, suddenly feeling nervous again. Malcolm’s reply wasn’t much help as well.

“Didn’t the Heelshires tell you?”

“…t-tell me what?” I inquired, my voice shaking a bit.

“…that during the last repair, the tradesman painted all of their windows… shut?”

“Hmm, no… they didn’t.” I shook my head, trying to look level-headed. Deep down I was freaking out, attempting to reject even the faintest idea of what our conversation implied.

“Right…”

* * *

As we finished looking over the list of groceries, Malcolm told me that he’d be back next Friday for the weekly deliveries and with my salary. He told me that the Heelshires requested that he’d bring it to me every other week and he agreed, claiming that it was hard to refuse the old, generous couple.

Just like the others, he faded into the forest when he left, as if he got eaten by it. I went back inside and glanced at the grandfather clock that was by the fireplace.

“Brahms! It’s time for us to do the chores!” I called as I made my way back to the kitchen to pick up the doll and pack away the leftovers. I decided to hum to Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune to distract myself—yet what was waiting for me was Brahms staring lifelessly into the void with an empty plate.

Malcolm and I shared my plate so it would be impossible for Brahms’ share to disappear. I breathed in sharply as I sat myself down across from the porcelain doll and stared at in intently.

What Malcolm told me earlier wasn’t helping me as well.

"Did you eat while I was busy, Brahms?" I whispered to the doll, earning no response. I drew my face closer to its porcelain head, trying to look for any signs of animation. After some time I dismissed the thought of it being an unconventional mannequin and washed the plates. I wiped them dry with a kitchen towel before placing it inside the cupboard before carefully picking up Brahms and carried it along with me upstairs.


	5. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the weekend is over. I'm very sorry if this chapter is also a little short. :(
> 
> I plan to occasionally write some chapters in Brahms' perspective. :) :) :)
> 
> Thank you again for reading my story.

Cleaning the enormous manor went like a breeze. It was the perfect diversion from all the strange happenings that occurred earlier today. I was humming to the tune of Carlos Gardel’s Una Por Cabeza as it blared from my earphones. I remembered how my mother used to play this melody all the time when I was a child and I’ve taken a liking to it. She was the one that influenced my taste in music, actually—playing music from her collection from time to time. I’ve managed to get a copy of it in my cellular phone for old time’s sake.

By the time I was done removing every detectable speck of dirt in every nook and cranny of this place, it was already past lunch time. Well, I wasn’t really the one to have three meals a day, so I let it pass. Brahms was propped up on a chair, its profile directed towards at me.

“Are you hungry, Brahms?” I cooed, carrying the doll as I descended the stairs. I placed my hand on its small back to prevent him from losing balance—it would be such a disaster if he were to fall and break. I may never see the light of day ever again if that ever happens. I grimaced at the thought that this job felt like I was playing house; talking to an inanimate object and living with it as if it was alive. It was manageable though, I hope I could keep this up until the old couple comes back.

Speaking of their return, they never mentioned how long their holiday would last. It seemed like they never had a proper vacation right after they had Brahms, so I guess they would extend their little leave as much as possible.

“I’m sorry for not feeding you at the right time,” I apologized to the doll as I placed him once again on the familiar chair at the panty of the kitchen. “Well, at least we have the house spotless for the weekend.”

I yanked my earphones away from my gadget and placed it in the rear pocket of my jeans as I scrolled through my playlist; putting the device on loudspeaker before tapping the melody of my choice—Mozart’s Wiegenlied. I tied my hair up to a ponytail, washed my hands and began to prepare the ingredients I needed for the recipe I wanted to make.

I began to pound the meat with the tenderizer to the rhythm of the lullaby and placed a handkerchief over the lower half of my face as I was allergic to herbs and spices. Tears instinctively began to form in my sockets—causing me to wipe them with the sleeve of my shirt as I started to season the pork tenderloin. Potatoes soaked in the sink as I picked each one up and peeled it before slicing into small wedges to serve as a complimentary side dish.

“Okay… we can have dinner a little early than usual,” I glanced at the doll, checking if it was still in its place. “We’ll be having an improvised version of pork schnitzel, since I can’t really remember how to make it.”

I placed the pork cutlets onto the heated skillet and placed a cover. As I waited, I sat alongside Brahms and began to play with my cellular phone, checking if anyone in my family sent me a message to see what I was up to—so far, no one has and I felt relieved; keeping communicated with them was actually a bit high maintenance, to be honest. They were a bit overbearing back when I first came to Europe. As if every person would take advantage of a lost and wandering foreigner. I then opened my gallery and looked at the pictures of the past adventures I had with Catherine with sentimental endearment.

“What am I doing, really?” I mumbled, closing my eyes as I felt sadness strongly wash over me. It was only my first day alone in the manor yet I’m already getting nostalgic. Chopin’s Tristesse playing beautifully in the background didn’t help as well as a tear escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek.

“Enough of this,” I laughed at my impending loneliness as I turned my cellular phone off and quickly went back to cooking.

* * *

It took awhile but I’m glad that I was able to finish making the meal without burning or breaking anything inside the kitchen. The vegetable oil on the cooked meat was still hot, prompting me to leave the plate on the counter to let it cool. Since the sizzling meat was impossible to eat at the moment, I decided to clean the traps to kill some time. I took out a small trash bag and some gloves.

“Please wait for me here, alright?” I said as I opened the back door leading to the porch. “I’ll clean the traps first then we can eat.”

I took my time to admire the lush green scenery that greeted me as I went outside. The landscape was wonderfully illuminated by the afternoon sun and everything smelled damp and earthy. I allowed nature’s smell invade my senses as I made my way to the designated spots where each of the traps were located.

I picked up a trap and slowly opened it—my nostrils flaring up at the foul scent emanating from the lifeless vermin who unfortunately came across this brilliantly handmade craft. My fingers brushed against the little ‘B.H.’ that was carved on the box contemplating that Mr. Heelshire was very talented with his hands. I picked up the rodent by its tail with my other hand and dropped it inside the trash bag before dusting my palms against each other before placing the trap back on its proper place; I did this routine at every corner of the manor—pleased at the sound of the crunchy leaves that shattered at my every step—before tying a knot on the trash bag and placed it inside the large bin. 

My stomach growled furiously, causing me to bend a bit as I made my way back inside the house. I used to mindlessly skip meals whenever I did something productive for school and would always lose track of time—my mother wouldn’t have any of it and immediately consulted a gastroenterologist to mend my digestive system so now when I barely eat, it acts up.

I locked the door behind me and made my way to the sink to wash my hands—allowing the tap water run as I removed the material from my skin and placed the gloves back in the cupboard under the basin. After cleaning myself up, I turned around and smiled at the doll, but was greeted with the sight of Brahms’ plate nowhere to be found.

I narrowed my eyes, glaring at the doll and tried to look for the missing dish all over the pantry. “I know we didn’t follow your schedule today, Brahms…”

“We didn’t get to play, and I’m sorry about that, but now’s not the time to play around… I’m really hungry…” I stated as I got up from the floor, still looking for his share. My stomach started to hurt again so I dragged my plate in between the doll and I.

“We can share this together, then.”

I said as I popped in a piece of potato wedge in my mouth, pleased that I managed to get the flavor just right. It took me about half an hour to finish eating and clean up before I got ready to take Brahms upstairs for bed time.

As I picked up the doll, a shadow supposedly moved at the hall outside the room.

My throat suddenly felt dry, making me clench the doll in my arms as I shuddered a little.

Was my mind playing tricks on me again?

I briefly sat Brahms back on his seat before heading towards the hall to extend my arm in the void. I waved my arm around, feeling the wall rigorously in search for the light switch. My face lit up when I flicked the switch on, no longer threatened by the darkness and eyed the empty hallway looking for any indication of life—thankfully, there wasn’t anything out in the space that was mobile.

“There we go,” I smiled as I went back inside the kitchen to get Brahms, delicately holding the doll as I closed the lights of the panty and scurried to the top of the stairs as if someone was stalking us; I hated the darkness—I always felt that there was something hiding in it.

I sat the doll on his bed as I made my way to my chambers, taking a shower first before seeing it off to bed.

* * *

When I came back, Brahms laid on the bed, apparently slumped down on the fabric of his duvet. I paid little attention to it and picked up the doll—dressing him in a pair of stripped pajamas before laying him back under the covers. I stood up, admiring the room before I made my way to the bookshelf, looking for a suitable bed time story. I took out Robert Southey’s Goldilocks and the Three Bears, flipped the pages and sat myself on the edge of the tiny bed.

“This was classic that all of my pupils loved, so I guess I’m going with this one tonight.” I told the doll as I opened the book, starting the tale.

Occasionally, I would pause to admire the artwork that was printed along the pages; the watercolor illustrations appeared so soft and inviting. I wonder what a life filled with watercolor would look like…

After finishing the story, I placed the book on the nightstand and left the lamp turned on as I made my way out of the room. Brahms remained in his position as he stared at me eerily when I stood by the door before closing the rest of the lights in its room.

“Sweet dreams, Brahms.” I whispered as I gradually closed the wooden door, careful not to emit a sound—as if there was a child inside that was fast asleep.

Before the door clicked, I heard a faint sound that made my eyes widen.

It was those creaking sounds again—this time they sounded like they were ominously heading towards the door.

I was so freaked out that I ran into my room and locked the door; backing away from the wooden plank that separated me from what was lurking outside the hall and jumped inside my bed, leaving the lights on.

This is too much… Don’t tell me the doll’s actually alive?

My heart pounded against my chest as I covered myself with the duvet, closing my eyes shut in attempt to calm myself down. It seemed to have worked as I began to relax and breathe more steadily. Not long after, I instinctively grabbed my cellular phone from the nightstand in case a storm comes and a power outage might occur. I needed the gadget to light my way if ever that happens…

I let a sigh escape my lips as I could no longer hear the sound of treading in the hallway. I realized my hands were shaking violently so clenched the device in my hand harder and agonizingly waited for myself to drift to sleep.


	6. Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! :)
> 
> Thank you for checking out my story! It really means a lot.
> 
> I'm sorry if I'm taking too long to get the duo to interact with each other, but I promise that the story's at the point where it's getting there... Someone's still a bit shy. ;)

I heard the pitter-patter of the drizzle tap against the glass of my window before it escalated to a full blown storm. The muffled sound of the rumbling thunder roared outside, prompting me to flinch; the downpour was heavy and violent. I couldn’t sleep at all as I was too aware of the situation, anticipating the upcoming power outage.

Lightning then suddenly flashed harshly outside—killing the electricity all over the manor; the rain now seemed to hammer against the glass of my window. I simultaneously shot my eyes open as the immediate darkness that engulfed the room and robbed me of my sight. I pulled the duvet that protected me down slowly, squinting at the absence of light; it took a while for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

I bit on my bottom lip as anxiety instilled from my paranoia of the dark started to creep on me like wildfire—driving me on edge.

I quickly got my cellular phone that lay on the mattress beside me and attempted to start it up. I grew impatient as I tapped the device’s screen, waiting for it to recognize my command; the little gadget could only input so much and took too long to respond. I knew that being afraid of the dark was ridiculous, but as a child I always had the premonition that there was something dangerous in the empty void.

As the screen finally lit up, my eyes squinted momentarily; blinded by the sudden brightness it emitted but felt glad nonetheless. I started to feel reassured that I can get through the night with my handy device as my solace.

Thinking that I wasn’t so defenseless in the dark anymore, I decided to reach for the nightstand to get my spectacles—wiping the lenses fervently before putting it on—in hopes of getting a better view of my surroundings.

I turned the torch of my cellular phone on, waving the little gadget around to look for the cabinet by the mirror. I remember Mrs. Heelshire telling me that each of the rooms in the manor had an ample amount of candles stocked in their furniture’s drawers since blackouts were indeed frequent in their home.

I stood up, straightening my clothes as I made my way to the cabinet in search of the alleged tapers; I placed my cellular phone on the top of the furniture, opening one of the drawers in search of my waxy comrades. As I rummaged through the space extensively, I admit that I was close to giving up before coming across a pack of matchsticks and some glim that was stored at the very back of the drawer.

“There you are, my friends!” I smiled; excited to light the sticks up—I simply cannot wait for the room to be bright again.

When I started on my quest to make the room all vibrant once more, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something—or someone with me in my chambers; I felt the hairs of my nape stood up at the thought.

“I need to loosen up a bit…” I mumbled as I closed my eyes and gently rubbed the back of my neck, shoulders, and arms to calm myself down.

Feeling safe and calm in the light from the candlesticks, I paced slowly back to my bed, climbing onto the mattress and laid myself gingerly as I shifted from one side to another, trying to find a comfortable spot. For some reason, my sight landed on the mirror in my room. I narrowed my eyes at it, displeased at the lack of coverage.

“Mirrors and the dark mean trouble,” I sighed under my breath, rolling my eyes at the thought; I tried going back to sleep, but I didn’t have any luck for the past few minutes—jumping at every sound I heard.

I groaned in discontentment at my ordeal; I tried changing my position every now and then, fiddling with my gadget, glancing at the clock on the nightstand, but to no avail, I was still unable to fall asleep.

My eyes mindlessly began to wander again, trailing at every corner of the room; the lid of my sockets finally began to feel heavy before catching a glimpse of a figure’s shadow at the mirror’s reflection.

“Seriously…”

I blinked a few times, making sure if what I saw was real or not—I was sleepy and tired, my mind was bound to play tricks on me. I brought my forearm up to my face, rubbing its skin across my eyes to further validate my previous assumption.

“This is ridiculous,” I frowned, irked at the fact that my mind created silly little visual illusions in the dark. It was going to be a very long night; I knew that I would only feel guarded if the power comes back—which was close to impossible in this weather.

A loud thud suddenly echoed outside the hall, causing me to gasp in fear. What in the world could create such a disturbing sound in the middle of the night? As if I wasn’t already convinced that this house was haunted.

I decided to probe on the situation and quickly got up, worried that it might be a person who broke in, seeking shelter from the rainstorm. I grabbed the candle on my nightstand and tip-toed towards the door—careful not to make a sound. When I reached the wooden plank, I hesitated a bit before reaching for the knob; only to be interrupted by the sound of the handle slowly turning.

“Now way…” I trailed off, my eyes wide and stricken with fear.

By the time I realized what was going on, I intrinsically backed away as quickly as I could—tripping on the carpet and fell on its surface, frozen. Wind gushed through the small gap from the door, killing the burning fire from each of the candles I brought out. The glim that I held in my hand also died as it rolled to the foot of my bed—I was in the middle of my room without any source of light. I began to hyperventilate; the sound of my clamoring heart ringing in my ears.

The door slowly opened as I heard the wooden plank creak in the darkness. My throat was dry and I tried my best to regulate my breathing. My body felt like melted butter as I sat on the carpet, frantically searching for the one that opened my door—that person, perilous or not, could be anywhere near my proximity and I felt immensely defenseless against it.

“…H-hello?” I stuttered, trying to call out to whoever it was.

Silence answered back instead as the jarring lightning flashed through my window, briefly illuminating my surroundings. What I saw then after really transcended beyond logical rationality—it was the little porcelain doll sitting by the doorframe.

My breathing became heavy again as my mind felt woozy. How in the world could an inanimate object move on its own accord? Am I really staying all alone at a country home in the middle of the forest? Am I having hallucinations again? My psychologist said on my last trip to therapy that I’d be better once I get away from everything—that being alone would benefit my condition.

“How ironic,” I thought, grimacing at the derision of my situation. Who would’ve thought that staying away from the outside world would do more harm than good? Well, people always said that too much of anything can actually lead to damaging consequences—I thought that solely applied to unhealthy vices rather than this, though.

Amidst the messy weave of the roaring thunder, a ringing buzz, my incoherent thoughts, and my erratic heartbeat in my ears, I was able to filter out something that literally blew my mind away.

It was the sound of someone sighing.

As if someone was breathing nearby.

Before I could properly process everything that was taking place, my head became cloudy and my vision began to blur.

“I really hate the dark…” I thought right before fainting due to the unbearable stress.


	7. Fondness (Brahms' POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. :)
> 
> I hope you guys will enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Of course Brahms isn't aggressive... yet.
> 
> Thank you again for reading!

Josephine.

That was the name of the nanny mummy and daddy got me. She seemed to be very young to be a nanny though, appearing to be only in her early twenties; her form an epitome of juvenile exuberance.

When I first saw her, I immediately thought that she was stunning. She possessed lustrous brunette locks, which looked so soft to touch, large round eyes filled with life hiding beneath some spectacles—her irises somehow reminded me of chocolate swirls as well, a smile which lifts up my spirits whenever I catch a glimpse of it, and milky white skin that looked very delicate; she was indeed a very beautiful girl.

I admit that I was skeptical at first; how could a young girl be my caretaker?

Whenever I watched mummy or daddy instruct Josephine, she was always able to demonstrate how capable she was, washing my doubts away. I was very pleased that not only was she very beautiful, she was also very bright—I soon became inexplicably fond of her.

Now, it has been a week since she’d come to existence in this depressing place, yet this day was the first time we were to be truly alone together.

The side of my lips curled a bit at how I wasn’t being on my best behavior; I couldn’t really help myself, to be honest. Josephine always mesmerized me like I was in a trance that frequently made me lapse on my promise to mummy and daddy. They specifically instructed me to I avoid troubling the girl yet all I have done was to give in to my urges—when given the chance to so.

She piqued my curiosity to the point that it was almost excruciating. I knew that I was supposed to stay hidden, silently observing her from the walls, but unlike before I was remotely subtle about it; lacking the delicacy that should’ve been evident in my bearing.

I first disobeyed mummy when I couldn’t delay on savoring the taste of the food the girl prepared. It smelled so ravishing that I didn’t hesitate at all when I left the walls and ate the meal in almost an instant; mummy was so enraged that she scolded me because of it—the girl forgave me though, insisting that what I did was part of being a child.

That was when I knew that she was the one… it had to be her… and no one else could ever replace her as my nanny.

She was mine, and mine alone.

The second time I disobeyed my parent’s wishes was when I actually made contact with Josephine for the first time ever. I wanted to watch her closely as she slept yet she fell asleep in the bathroom—I found her unconscious inside the tub as Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune played from an miniature electronic device. 

I was embarrassed, but I also couldn’t bear the thought of her getting sick so I mustered up all the courage I had to pick up her bare form, wrapped a towel around her and tucked her into bed before disappearing into the walls again.

I’m glad that I learned something about her that night—she was indulgent in baths and that she liked the same melodies that I often listen to.

Unfortunately, my misbehavior didn’t falter there.

When mummy and daddy left for their holiday, everything escalated; I was pleased that the restrictions they have imposed on me were temporarily demolished and that the girl tried to abide by my rules—unlike my previous nannies. I especially enjoyed it when she played music as she prepared our breakfast. I noticed that she was busy slicing the various fruits she had at hand that the tune had already stopped; I mindlessly stepped out of the confined space in between the walls and replaced the disk on the gramophone with one of my favorite pieces by Dmitri Shostakovich.

I was so consumed by my own gratification that I didn’t bother to even ponder about the suspicions I would cause later on—I was really becoming a very naughty boy.

One thing led to another and here she was, lying unconscious on the ground. I was the one at fault here as well, as I couldn’t help but watch her in bemusement as her little episode began to unfold. Josephine was petrified of the dark; she was frightened of it that it was insinuated upon me that she’d become hysterical—I decided to look after her just in case. 

Who knew that my infinitesimal act of concern would cause her to become more terrified?

I was unable to contain the broad smile that formed under my mask as I loomed over her—the scene all too familiar. When I entered her chambers, I felt panic threatened to wash over me as I caused her to faint, probably by overwhelming her senses; When I bent down to a squat to inspect her more closely, I was relieved at the sight of her chest moving in a slow yet steady pace.

Thank goodness she was still alive and breathing. 

My fingers gingerly brushed a dark lock of hair away from her face—paving way for me to see her calm features more clearly. I was in awe, as she looked utterly flawless. Unlike me, who was… eccentric to a fault. My hand subconsciously found its way on my porcelain disguise, trailing my fingers on the cold mask over the area where my burnt marks were hidden.

I scowled at my ridiculous gesture as rage slowly ignited within me. Compared to Josephine, I was a nothing but a repulsive monster. How silly of me to foolishly think that I could one day be able to show my true self to the girl—that she would accept me as I am and be with me wholeheartedly?

I could only dare to dream.

With a sigh I decided that I'd tuck her in bed once more even though I knew at the back of my mind that it might jeopardize Josephine's commitment as being my nanny.

My arms snaked underneath Josephine, keeping her form close to me as much as possible as I slowly stood up, careful to not interrupt her slumber. My senses were filled with her sweet scent; that and she also seemed to fit perfectly in my arms—how I wish that we could stay in this position a little longer but my heart started to palpitate. It felt like my heart was banging against my chest so I took slow breaths to calm myself as I strode across the room, making my way towards her bed. I believe that this was the second instance where I’ve tucked her to bed.

I placed the girl on the mattress gently, pulling up the duvet to cover her unconscious form. One thing I have observed as well as thankful for was that Josephine was difficult to wake up—once she falls asleep, her slumber would always be very deep and no matter what happens around her; she would still be in dreamland, enjoying her happy little adventures.

My hand stroked her head lightly as I hovered over her, trying my best to dwindle the urge to get close to her. I tried to convince myself that carrying her to bed was enough for bodily contact; I shouldn't do anymore.

Desire was welling up inside me, violent as a rabid creature. I clenched my hands into fists as my breathing became more labored. A part of me wanted to grab her here and now—show her everything that I am so that I no longer have to pretend that I wasn’t alive, but what should I do when she turns away from me?

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft whimper that came out of nowhere.

In an instant, my eyes fixated upon Josephine's sleeping form. Apparently, the inarticulate sound came from her; I also noticed that her face formed a pained expression, as if she was in agony.

It didn't take me long to realize that she was suffering from night terrors—she tossed and turned on her bed until beads of sweat started to form on her temples and the little groans came out of her lips from time to time.

When I was a little boy, mummy used to stay by my side whenever I woke up from nightmares. Of course, that was all before everything was ruined by my mistakes—nowadays I find refuge in the darkness; the very cause of my terrors has become my only friend. I wonder if that applies to this situation as well.

Would the girl find comfort in the presence of a person who was a complete stranger to her?

I looked down at Josephine, one of her palms now gripping the cover of the mattress tightly. I was in a predicament; I knew I had to leave her be to avoid myself from getting caught; it might end up terribly if we met prematurely and she decides to tell mummy and daddy about it. I pursed my lips as my hand had subconsciously grazed the fabric of her sheets.

All I knew was that it was unbearable to see her like this; I no longer had any hesitation when I bent down to her level and tried to quietly clear my throat. I lifted my mask a little to the side of my face so that my words wouldn’t echo against the porcelain material.

“You’ll be alright,” I whispered warily, scanning Josephine’s face to see any shift in her expression before continuing to share comforting words.

“…I promise that the rainstorm will end soon.”

As if my words were medicine, the girl’s face visibly became soft as tension left her. Josephine seemed to have calmed down and a small smile unknowingly tugged at the corner of my lips, taking pride in what I have accomplished as whimsical it may be.

Thinking that she will be alright for the rest of the evening, I decided to take my leave—departing through her wardrobe’s hidden passage and faded into the enclosed space.


	8. Spectator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have another chapter for everyone! :)
> 
> Thank you so much for checking out my story. Some even left a kudos! These little things makes me so happy. It motivates me to publish the succeeding chapters earlier than I intent to.
> 
> Even if I write messily, I hope everyone enjoys my story as much as I love writing the chapters for it.

I woke up to the faint sound of birds chirping outside. The sun was already up and I felt really disoriented when I noticed that I was on my bed again.

The last thing I remembered from the night before was that there was a loud sound that echoed from the hallway and I was definitely sure that I got up to check on what was the cause of it; I fainted due to the shock and stress though and never found out what it was all about but still… I should be lying on the ground.

I sat up and leaned my back against the cushioned headboard of my bed as I tried to scrutinize the situation—attempting to recall the details as much as possible. My eyes then widened at the memory of Brahms sitting by the doorframe and jerked my head to its direction.

A frown crept at the corners of my mouth as my eyes landed at the entrance of my door—he wasn’t there and the wooden plank was closed; nothing seemed to be out of place.

Were all of those sequences really just a part of my dream? Did my ability to lucid dream happen again? If that was the case I better send my psychotherapist an e-mail some time soon.

Maybe this was the consequence of escaping my stagnant life back at home.

I glanced at the little clock that was on my nightstand—it was already past noon. Sure, it was a Saturday but I haven’t made breakfast for Brahms; let alone seen the doll since last night.

I felt my stomach ache a little and decided to start the day—or rather the afternoon. I got on my feet groggily, grabbing my phone and headed towards the bathroom.

A shiver ran down my spine as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection. I expected dark circles to form around underneath my eyes yet what had greeted me was a fresh face—as if my slumber last night had rejuvenated and alleviated me from the built up stress from my paranoia; my eyes narrowed at the irony.

To brush off this uneasiness, I decided to play Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 as I removed my garments and went inside the glass cubicle opposite of the bathtub to take a brisk shower.

In order to wake myself up, I opted not to use the water heater that came with the shower piece and allowed the cold droplets of water trickle down my back; I then closed my eyes, breathing in and out slowly as I rinsed all of the sweat and dirt off my form.

I wiped the moist steam—caused by the humid condensation of water from the shower—off the bathroom mirror as I brushed my damp hair with a wide tooth comb. My mind started to wander, falling into a reverie as Tchaikovsky’s October: Autumn Song now echoed wonderfully against the tiled room; I wonder if I’m slowly slipping into madness?

“…you’ll be alright…I promise…”

Those words suddenly popped in my mind, causing me to snap back to reality.

If I dreamt the entire ordeal, did my mind come up with those comforting words as well?

I was pretty sure I heard a male’s voice uttered it—none of the voices of the men I knew in my life came close to its tone. A displeased expression was painted on my face as I decided that it was useless to think about it too much and straightened myself up before leaving the bathroom.

As I scurried towards the door, something cylindrical came into contact with the sole of my sandals, causing me to lose my footing. I rubbed the back of my head as it hit against the wooden footboard of my bed. I moved my feet to the side to see the culprit but was surprised to see that it was my waxy friend from the night prior.

“How did you get here on the carpet?” I absentmindedly asked the candle, picking it up and tossed it over to the mattress. I stood up slowly, gripping the footboard to regain balance; I made my way to Brahms’ room to wake him up.

I knocked a few times first before opening the door, peeking into the room and whispered a greeting meekly.

My eyes widened at the sight of his messy room, bewildered at how the room came to be. The doll was on the rocking chair, staring intently at me as I stood by the doorframe. My heart began to race—am I living with a live doll or a poltergeist?

“Uh… good afternoon to you too, Brahms…” I chuckled nervously as I looked around the room. The comforter was on the floor, accompanied by scattered toys in every direction along with some children’s books; his wardrobe was messed up and cluttered as well.

I sighed in disbelief—did Brahms’ really have a tantrum?

I bent down on my knees, slowly picking up the toys and placed them in the wooden box at the end of his bed—some of his toys were ruined so I settled them inside a trash bin making a mental note that I should throw it away outside after I’m done organizing his room. I placed the books back on the bookshelf, folded the articles of clothing and placed it back inside the wardrobe.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t wake up on time, Brahms.” I said as I carried the porcelain doll in one arm and the trash bin on my other, trying to appease whatever being that made the entire mess.

“…I had a hard time sleeping.”

We made our way down the stairs and headed straight to the kitchen to get something to eat first, among other things. Today was laundry day, so I have to at least get that done in time for the Heelshires’ return.

I propped the doll on its usual chair, sitting it up straight before preparing our meal. I decided to make chicken casserole since it’s already both our breakfast and lunch.

“We’ll have chicken casserole for brunch,” I told the porcelain figure, smiling at it as I went around the kitchen to get the ingredients I needed for the recipe. “I’m sure you’d like it.”

Of course Brahms didn’t reply and stared into emptiness.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the dish to cook and here I was eating with Brahms in silence; occasionally glancing to his side to see if he’d reach for his food. For now, I've concluded that he might be a soul that possessed the doll as his vessel or a rampant poltergeist; either way both hypotheses are still very unnerving—I wish that I brought my cellular phone along with me so that I wouldn’t have to suffer this quietude.

After brunch, I went on like usual, washing the dirty cutlery and dishes, leaving the rest of the scorching hot food on a plate at the counter for it to cool down—before I stow it away in a disposable canister a little later on.

I brought the doll along with me to the small laundry room that was connected from the kitchen to start with my tedious task.

The afternoon sun shone brightly in the horizon as I hanged all of the wet clothes from the laundry to dry. Brahms sat on the stony flowerbed nearby, the same blank stare evident in his cold features.

When I pulled out a large undershirt from the basket, I cocked my head in confusion; I know that I shouldn’t pry about the family’s garbs, but I couldn’t help but notice that there were items of clothing that seemed to be too large for Mr. Heelshire—there were dress shirts, cardigans, trousers, and pairs of pajamas that seemed too long for the old man.

My cheeks became flushed in embarrassment. Was I really that bored to notice the tiniest details in these sorts of things?

I decided to shrug my assumption off and finished hanging all of the old couple’s clothes. I glanced at Brahms briefly, checking if he was still seated properly on the stones—he was, like a good boy, yet what made my stare linger was the feeling of being watched. This time, it felt different; I was already used to the doll’s lifeless eyes directed at me but somehow I sensed like there was another pair of eyes elsewhere observing my every movement.

I turned around to the forest, checking to see if I were to expect any guests, but all that greeted me were the fresh and lush greenery abundantly native in the wild.

“Stop it, Phine,” I ruminated to myself. It was useless to mull over about something as trivial as feeling watched—especially if I already knew that it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I picked up the pair of gloves and the black trash bag that sat beside Brahms and ventured around the property leisurely; taking my time indulgently to clean the traps since I was already outside the manor.

Time went by quickly as I finished my chores for the day, placing Brahms inside the empty hamper and made our way back inside the house. It was already around dinner time when we did but the casserole still made me feel bloated; I looked down at Brahms as I sat him again on his usual spot, staring at him before asking if he wanted dinner soon.

I placed the basket back inside the laundry room and made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a plastic container from the cupboard before heading to the counter to store the extra food in the freezer. I jumped at the sight of the empty surface; the whole ordeal still manages to surprise me.

Now I’m convinced that there was something definitely suspicious in this house since the plate of food was gone yet again for how many times already. I turned my attention to Brahms as he sat on his seat unmoving; his gaze directed at where the plate was supposed to be before we left it to cool down.

The strange feeling came back again, making the hairs of my nape stand up—I felt so unsettled that I dismissed the need for dinner. I quickly brought Brahms to his room, neglecting to turn off the lights at the hallway; I knew that I was just imagining things because of my paranoia, but I don’t need this nerve wreaking experience right now.

I calmed myself down as I did the doll’s bed time routine, this time reading Beatrix Potter’s ‘The Tale of Peter Rabbit.’ I couldn’t help but reminisce as this was one of my grandmother’s favorite stories to tell back then. I trailed my palm against the pages, engrossed yet again at the vibrant water-colored illustrations.

As I closed the book, I bent down to peck Brahms’ little cheek—whispering a soft good night to the porcelain doll before taking my leave.

When I closed the door of the little boy’s chambers, I jumped to the loud creaking sound of the rusty old staircase collapsing—opening the attic. I remembered Mrs. Heelshire told me that only junk was up at the confined space and I was no longer obliged to clean it.

My initial thought was to leave the stairs as it is and check it first thing on the morning; I was all agog at what awaited me inside the loft though, so I decided to find out tonight instead of chickening out.

I grabbed my cellular phone from my room and turned its torch on, before ascending into the emptiness.

“Hello?” I asked, before chuckling to my pleasantry. This manor was guaranteed to be rodent free so who was that greeting addressed to?

Many antiques were stored up here giving me the assumption that the Heelshires were a tad bit of compulsive collectors, hoarding every wonderful object they come across. I waved my cellular phone around and surveyed through the pile of furniture and albums—curiosity taking over my senses as I picked up a small photo album that was lying on the dirty floor, dusting the accumulated residue off its ebony cover.

I placed my little gadget on top the pile of albums, allowing its torch to weakly illuminate the room—feeling a bit secure at the dimness rather than darkness. As I was about to turn and open the small booklet, I flinched at the loud thud that echoed inside the loft, causing me to knock over the junk and scatter its contents all over the floor. Darkness engulfs my view as I dropped on the floor and tried to look for my cellular phone, feeling every concrete object my palm came across to.

My eyes widened in shock as my palm brushed against a hand, causing my heartbeat to quicken. Sure, there were lots of junk up here but I was absolutely positive that there wasn’t a mannequin lying around near where I stood.

It soon dawned upon me that what my hand had detected wasn’t made of plastic since there was an electric sensation present when it happened; I could only relate it to the warmness I feel when I come into close contact to human skin.

I was so startled at my own realization that I hastily backed away, clumsily tripping over some of the clutter and fell down into the opened space that led downstairs to the hallway.

My body sharply hit the carpeted ground as my head slammed against the end of the worn out wooden stairs, rendering me lightheaded.

Just as I was about to slip into unconsciousness, my eyes stared blankly at the empty space of the loft—catching a glimpse of a shadow that rather stood out in the void as darkness engulfed my senses.


	9. Intrusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you very much for reading! It really means a lot!
> 
> This chapter is very brief but the next one will be somewhat lengthy, I promise!
> 
> I'm sorry as this chapter has bits that not only suggest sexual assault but attempted non-consensual intimacy. Writing it was also very challenging since in these certain situations, no matter how much you'd want to fight, your mind will go blank in panic and being in that kind of state will almost always paralyze you. It's awful and may be triggering to some, so I ask that you please skip the end if you do not like these kinds of scenarios.

I ran my palm across the back of my head, trying to feel if the bump I got from falling off the attic stairs was still present. It’s been a week and nothing out of the ordinary—except for the usual missing meal ordeal—has taken place at the manor.

One thing I noticed in the past few days was that if I managed to do everything right, from Brahms’ schedule to his routines, I’d spent my stay here in harmony; if I didn’t, well… let’s just say that Mr. Heelshire was right about the little boy being particular.

Since I had earphones, I honestly forgot to play music aloud for Brahms as part of his musical appreciation segment in his insipid schedule for school. He got playful and wreaked havoc in my chambers; all of my belongings were out of place while some were missing. He would only return my things if I get to meet all of his demands the next time around.

Today was one of those days where we got along—the day went by pleasantly, the soul of Brahms was peaceful as I cleaned up after dinner.

As I thought that I could get by today without any worries, I heard a crash in the parlor. I immediately speculated it was Brahms’ doing, pondering about what I did wrong.

I shouldn’t have left the house so open… even if there was a barrier at the edge of the property. The Heelshires are definitely going to kill me…

I jerked my head at the direction of the hallway as I heard a male’s jubilant chuckle. My heart began to flutter as the thought of an intruder frightened me; the sun will set anytime soon and I’m all alone here in a large manor—no one can help me.

What if the intruder decides to hurt me?

I quickly pushed my thoughts at the back of my mind and got a rolling pin from the food preparation drawer—I slowly walked through the foyer as quietly as I could. My hands gripped the utensil tightly, causing the wooden cylinder to tremble at my touch.

I peeked inside the parlor, trying to look for the cause of the disturbance. A man’s back was turned to me as he sat on one of the couches in the lounge—rummaging through what I could interpret as a satchel clumsily made from a burlap sack. He seemed to be a thief, as he busily shoved the little porcelain decorative pieces that adorned the table and shelves in the parlor.

I decided to come closer, so that I could hit him hard on the head and call the Malcolm after; he’d come with the police later on. I nod in approval at my little plan and paced towards the figure as he was distracted by what he was doing.

As I was about to deliver the blow on his head, the man faced me, abruptly stood up and snatched the rolling pin from my grasp. He was much bigger—and stronger than what I’ve anticipated. I tried to distance myself from him so that I could escape, but he managed to grab me by my shoulders and pushed down on the floor placing his weight onto me to pin me down.

“Not very bright, are ye now missy?” the man slurred, smirking as he stared down at my defenseless form. I’ve never felt so tiny in my life before.

“'ere I thought this place was deserted.” He continued as he sat on top of my pelvis to stop me from squirming in attempt to escape from his captivity. The man grew agitated at my silence and tightened his grip on my wrists.

“It was indeed a very stupid idea.” I replied, taking heed to his warning; alcohol reeked from his mouth as he let out a breathy laugh. I have to be cautious.

“Well, we all learn from our mistakes yeah?” he grinned, ogling below my face. I narrowed my eyes at his gesture—he was the perverted kind of drunkard.

“My face is up here, pervert.” I spat at the man, angering him. He immediately let go of my wrists and rapidly raised a palm up before slapping my face harshly. My glasses flew to the edge of the carpet as I gasped in shock; his advance caused my eyes to water.

“Feisty are we? I bet if we met a' a pub we’d get along, yeah?” the man purred, drawing his face closer to mine as he trailed his fingers against my jaw, down to my neck and stopped at my clavicle.

“You’re quite the looker.”

I said nothing, trying to retain my composure as he mouthed other unflattering words against my ear—I knew that any sort of reaction would only feed off to his authority.

“Y’see, the plan was to take a' much as I can back to my place, make a fortune,” His fingers were now tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Who could’ve thought that I’d come 'cross a beauty 'ike you?”

Silence filled the room and the man frowned at me, displeased with my behavior; since anything he said didn’t make me flinch, the man then slid his hand up my shirt, resting it on my stomach. I quivered at his invasive action, feeling sick from the sudden warmth that pressed against my skin.

"Ain't so tough now are we?" the thief noticed my involuntary shiver—a disgusting toothy grin formed on his face as he started to rub the skin of my abdomen repulsively; licking his lips in the process. I felt queasy as my heart began to palpitate, unable to tolerate his actions.

I already knew where this would lead and I could only mentally prepare myself for the imminent assault. I was absolutely all alone away from the town and no one can save me from this peril.

My eyes shut tightly as I shook my head violently. I squirmed relentlessly, still attempting to fight the thief; of course I was weaker than the man but I was determined not to lose—this isn’t how I’d want this to happen.

“Hold still!” the man roared, walloping his palm against my face, causing me to yelp. A tear escaped the corner of my eye due to the sting, and without noticing it; I began to tremble incessantly, probably from the shock.

I could only hear the thief’s boisterous laughter ring in the room, cupping my waist with his calloused hands, lifting my shirt up as he was about to continue touching me.

My body instinctively kicked and turned underneath his form in panic; the situation finally sinking into my senses—I felt utterly hopeless. More tears started to well up in my eyes as I started to whimper. Even though I knew that we were the only people inside the manor, it didn’t stop me from trying to cry for help; the man’s rambunctious chortle drowned my every word.

Strength began to leave my body as I became exhausted from fighting the thief too much. For a moment, everything around me became inaudible, only the rapid beating of my heart echoed in my ears.


	10. Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> I tried to make this chapter rough and violent, since I wanted the scenario to be as detailed as possible to produce a graphic mental image for everyone.
> 
> Hope all of you enjoy this one! :)

The lights began to flicker, before entirely dying out; causing the thief to stop dead on his tracks and looked around as the both of us froze in the dark—the setting sun served as our only source of light. This made my heart become rampant as my anxiety was about to skyrocket.

The man shrugged at the measly muddle, commenting that a little darkness made things more exciting and decided to move on with his act.

As I anticipated the plight that was about to happen, I suddenly felt the man’s weight lifted off from my body and heard another crash—I opened my eyes as I heard the thief groan in pain, sat myself up and leaned against the nearby cabinet as I saw his form lying on the ground across the room.

My eyes widened at the scene, shocked at who could’ve saved me. I clumsily scanned the room, looking for my savior; my sight affixed on a figure that stood by the hallway entrance at the other end of the cluttered space. I stared at the soles of his bare feet and trailed my eyes upward.

It was another man, looking ragged and dirty. He seemed approximately younger than the thief, was tall and had a lean physique. The man wore some grey trousers, a large beige cardigan, suspenders, and a stained white undershirt—he was hairy all over and possessed disheveled wavy curls on the top of his head. What bothered me though was when I saw his profile; his facial features were covered by a porcelain mask that looked eerily similar to the Heelshires’ doll.

Was this man Brahms… all along? If that was the case then he would be the reason behind every mysterious quandary that plagued the manor. Not a lost soul nor a poltergeist but a live man of flesh and blood.

“…B-Brahms?” I called out quietly, blinking a few times before realizing that he was indeed the Heelshire when he turned to face me—the man immediately strode towards me and bent down to my level, delicately holding my wrist whilst caressing my face, inspecting it intently for any indication of harm inflicted by the thief. Brahms' free palm then picked up my spectacles from the wooden floor and placed it on the bridge of my nose; his green eyes gazed softly into my brown ones—as if he was trying to tell me something. I flinched when his large hand brushed against my sore cheek, causing the man to stiffen.

His form looked tensed as he glared at the thief and abruptly got up, running swiftly to the man's side to scathe him severely; the scene similar to that of a predator consuming its prey.

The man continued to wince in pain; Brahms' fists landed everywhere on his body, aggression evident in his movements. It didn’t take long before the thief was covered with bruises and blood everywhere—dazed from the beating. Brahms then snatched the rolling pin that was in the man's grasp and delivered the finishing blow; the thief stopped struggling, falling unconscious due to the force of the blunt object and the incessant loss of blood. The sight made me slightly nauseous.

Brahms froze in place as he sat on the man—his position similar to what the thief did to me prior. I saw his shoulders rise up and down as he caught his breath.

This man defeated the intruder and relieved me from my predicament. Normally in these kinds of situations, being saved was supposed to make you happy but instead I felt worried.

How could Brahms do something like that with such ease? It was like he was incapable of feeling remorse. Of course my blood boiled and if I was as fit as him, I’d somehow relish the moment of beating the thief myself too, just not into a pulp, though.

A lump began to form in my throat as the thought of the thief being dead crossed my mind. As I tried to piece the tapestry logically altogether, all I could do was stare blankly at the scene, my mouth agape with incredulity.

I instinctively reached for the telephone that was on the top of the drawer in hopes of contacting the authorities—to save my assailant. Even though he was a terrible person, I still felt sorry for him. What if the thief was the sole breadwinner for his family? I’m well aware of the wonders desperation and poverty can do to one’s morals, after all.

As I picked up the handset, a large hand stopped me; Brahms' reflexes were quick, exhibiting his prowess in agility. He jerked my wrist away from the device and shot a disapproving look at me, shaking his head fervently. I wanted to ask if I could call an ambulance since there would be bigger repercussions if the thief died but my vocal chords weren't cooperating.

The sound of someone barging through the front entrance of the home distracted me, causing me to look away from the man’s emerald eyes. Brahms hastily left the parlor without a sound as I stared at the hallway, waiting for the visitor to come into view.

It was Malcolm.

Why did he drop by? Malcolm shouldn’t be here—it wasn't Friday yet…

The brunette looked around, a hint of shock mixed in his expression. He scanned the dimly lit room as I heard him curse under his breath. When he saw me at the corner of the disaster by the cabinet, he immediately went over to my side.

“Josephine, what the hell?” he scolded me, his voice almost cracking at the sudden raise of tone. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you!”

I gave him a puzzled look as he gripped my shoulders, shaking my frame slightly and continued, “Don’t you remember? You called the store but you didn’t say anything… All I heard was a loud crash of sorts… I thought you were in grave danger—apparently you were.”

My lips opened slightly to try and deny the alleged phone call, but nothing came out from my mouth. Instead, I breathed in and out trying to grasp the situation; I still had difficulty fathoming the fact that Brahms wasn’t just a doll. I closed my eyes to calm my senses but was only interrupted by my friend’s exasperated sigh.

“Was he a thief?” Malcolm whispered as he eyed the bruised and bloodied man from across the room. I nodded my head faintly, my form still unwilling to communicate. “Is he…”

Before he could finish, my eyes widened in shock. How could I explain to anyone what happened awhile ago? I might get away claiming it was self-defense—I highly doubt that they’d likely believe that a girl like me was capable of beating someone almost to death.

As if Malcolm knew what my expression implied as to what was going on, he promptly reassured me that he’ll call medical assistance first instead of the police; saying that he’d get in touch with the authorities once I calm down.

The man held on to the piece of furniture for support as he stood up, taking another look at the perplexing scene before picking up the telephone. Malcolm cussed in infuriation as he slammed the handset down onto the little device, claiming that the line was dead; he then impatiently brought out his cellular phone, dialed the local emergency hotline, and contacted the hospital.

After the call, Malcolm rubbed his temples slowly, probably trying to adjust to the situation. He then helped me get up, carefully clutching my upper arm whilst my free palm gripped on the edge of the cabinet, balancing my footing. We both stared at each other for awhile until the power was back on.

“Finally,” Malcolm sighed in relief before he held my hand and led me to the kitchen. He sat me down before grabbing a clean towel from the cupboard and a pail before filling it with water. He told me that we had to wait for the ambulance to arrive first before we could tidy up the mess at the parlor. My friend also added that he’d go on a heads start though to try and reduce the thief’s bloodied image; he advised me to start thinking up of a suitable alibi if ever I’d be brought in for questioning.

Malcolm went back and forth the parlor and the kitchen, changing the red liquid—allocated from the thief’s battered state—from the basin and replaced it with cold tap water a few times.

By the time Malcolm had finished his little chore; he threw the dirty fabric into the hamper inside the laundry room, placed the pail under the sink’s cupboard and washed himself up. He then got a drinking glass from the top cupboard—placing it on the counter as he made his way to the refrigerator and brought out a chilled carton of milk.

He poured the contents onto the glass and pushed it towards me before sitting himself at the other end of the counter.

“Have a sip,” he said softly, waiting for me to take the kind gesture. How did he know that milk calms me down?

“I always saw you drink a small portion of milk alone at the back of the store whenever you feel agitated or terrible…” He trailed off as if he read my mind; his cheeks were dusted with a pinkish hue, embarrassed that he recalled a habit of mine so nonchalantly. I was taken aback, though; I’ve always made sure that no one saw me when I did.

As I took the glass and rested it on my sore cheek, Malcolm scooted closer to the counter and looked straight into my eyes; I reflexively looked away, uncomfortable with the sudden direct eye contact.

“What happened? Did he…”

I didn’t indulge Malcolm’s queries, letting him ponder on the events.

“Josephine, you’re like a sibling to me. You’re very close to my heart and I can’t help but worry about you,” he whispered softly, concern clinging onto his words.

I remembered how reluctant he was to let me leave my post as a grocer yet he still introduced me to the Heelshires and encouraged me to do my best with my new employment. Malcolm knew how whimsical and impulsive I could be and I’m thankful that he didn’t attempt to restrain me back then.

I gave my friend a slight nod and a small smile.

“Thank you, but I… have to look after…” I started, but Malcolm cut me off, his expression mirrored perturbation.

“Phine… Don’t be a fool. You don’t have to feel obliged to take care of a lifeless doll just because they’re the wishes of an old couple.” He sighed heavily, as if he was releasing his burdens out in the open.

I frowned at Malcolm; he knew very well that I had a soft spot for frail and old people since my grandfather was the one who raised me throughout my childhood—I was a bit upset that he hinted at me to drop my promise with the Heelshires.

“You’re in danger being all alone out here.”

I shook my head at him in defiance. “I’m sorry Malcolm, but I gave my word… I can’t just leave.”

Tension began to fill the air for a while until Malcolm decided to break the ice.

“That’s very likely since it's you, Phine,” he chuckled at my stubbornness before a wide grin formed on his face, “There’s no other way getting around it I suppose.”

I returned the gesture, pleased that my friend gave up in trying convincing me to leave the manor. I was a stubborn idiot after all.

* * *

The sound of the siren blared from the outside as Malcolm stood up, briefly straightening his posture and made his way to greet the medics. I followed him, peeking by the parlor’s doorframe. My friend did all the arrangements and explained everything to them; stating that the man was a thief and I tried to get away from him—causing the man to fall from the top of the stairs. Malcolm also added that the man staggered into the parlor and that I came up behind him to hit him with a blunt object to render him unconscious.

I was impressed at how his imagination managed to concoct such silly scenarios.

Malcolm simultaneously cleaned up some of the mess at the parlor and relayed the alibi he made for me when the medics left the manor; only stopping when Greta called his cellular phone—it seemed like they had already gotten together.

He insisted that I stay over at their place for the night since it was especially dangerous during nightfall; I denied immediately, the thought of imposing burdened me.

My friend sighed in defeat as he gave me a disappointed smile—telling me to lock up and that he’d call me once he files the report to the local authorities.

I waved goodbye to my friend as his vehicle disappeared into the void of the forest.

As if the darkness was a threatening entity ready to pounce at me, I immediately shut the entrance door behind me and locked it with the master key, ready to retreat for the night. As I walked through the hallway, the vivid memory of what happened earlier still haunted my mind—I recalled how animalistic Brahms’ movements were, and the image of his bruised knuckles popped in my head. I stopped by the bathroom to get the first aid kit; I checked the contents if it was complete and wandered around the manor.


	11. Succor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been awhile... :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my story! I never thought that I'd actually get kudos for my silly writing, since I always seem to get nervous about my stories and ultimately end up deleting some of it, so it's a treat for me and I'm really grateful! It's encouraging and it means a lot!
> 
> This chapter's a bit long, but I hope you enjoy it!

Looking for Brahms was not an easy feat.

I’ve been walking around the desolate manor for a while now, turning my attention to every sound I hear and jumping at every shadow I see—but none of them belonged to the man that I was searching for.

Doubt started to whisper in my ear as I felt my form grow weary.

Did Brahms really save me? What if I was mistaken? What if that was all a hallucination? What if I only imagined the doll coming to life?

“What if it was Malcolm all along?”

I shook my head, disappointed at the fact that I was spouting out nonsense.

Brahms… is a real live person.

My thoughts started to wander as I dropped my eyes onto the plastic container. Just as when I thought I’ve already gotten the hang of taking care of the Heelshires’ beloved doll—son, the actual being concerned comes out of nowhere and saves me.

It was foolish to assume that I was coming close to unravel the mystery that shrouded the regal family.

Speaking of stupidity, what was I thinking? I was such an idiot for trying to take the previous matter into my hands; I shouldn’t have done something as impetuous as trying to knock out a thief with a rolling pin. I barely had a chance against him—I was very lucky Brahms happened to be here with me… alive.

As I lift up my head to see where my aimless wandering has taken me, I noticed that I was standing in front of the large painting of the family; my eyes landed at the illustration of the child ardently, staring into its emerald eyes as if I was trying to ask where the actual Brahms’ whereabouts were.

An agitated sigh escaped my lips as I was close to giving up on my little quest to look for the Heelshire. Maybe he was resting somewhere inside the manor—he did beat up a thief until the man was battered and bruised; I could only imagine the arduousness of the feat, even for a grown man like him.

The corner of my lips started to curl as the sudden realization crossed my mind.

Mrs. Heelshire mentioned beforehand that her son was a very shy little boy, that he doesn’t want to be seen—maybe she was also pertaining to the grown man as well. I turned around and began to head to my room.

I wanted to tend to his bruised knuckles as a form of gratitude for saving my life, but I guess it’ll have to wait. I could help him the next time around when he’s ready to be seen.

As I was about to enter my chambers, I noticed the door to Brahms’ own was open—light emitting from its tiny gaps. Usually, I would close the doors as often as I could since I wasn’t very fond of the possible entities that lurked inside the dark, enclosed spaces.

Curiosity profoundly washed over me as I made my way towards the child’s room. I stopped by the wooden plank, cleared my throat a bit, and knocked a few times before pushing the door further to expose the void.

“…hello?” I called softly, looking around, before my eyes fixated on the object on the bed’s mattress.

It was Brahms, the doll.

He was propped up motionlessly on the cushion while his head was leaned against the wooden headboard. I cocked my head in confusion—I specifically remember that I left the porcelain figurine back at the kitchen pantry; I haven’t gone back to get him since I wanted to treat the real Brahms first.

I entered the room, placing the medical kit on the toy box that was situated at the end of the bed and sat down on the mattress, peering at the mannequin beside me. I hesitated a bit before reaching for Brahms, whispering a small apology before starting with the usual bed time routine.

* * *

As I finished reading ‘The Ugly Duckling’ by Hans Christian Andersen, I placed the book back to the shelf and covered Brahms with the duvet. I ran my eyes across the room once more, before bending down to brush my lips against the smooth yet cold, porcelain exterior of the doll’s face; I quickly pulled away, looking into the doll’s lifeless eyes.

“Thank you, for today…” I started nervously, unsure of what to say next. Since I was finished with my duties with the doll, I was already free to do as I pleased—I decided to reach out to the actual Brahms via his inanimate counterpart; surmising that it was our sole way of communication. I hastily picked up the first aid kit and held it towards the mannequin, hoping I could get my message across.

“If you’d like… I…”

I grimaced at my silly actions. What am I doing, exactly?

After much thought, I decided to drop the conjecture of reaching out to Brahms for now.

When the time comes that he wants my help, I’ll be ready. He doesn’t need me right now; he was able to fend for himself without my knowledge for so long. I shouldn’t stress myself over a doltish premise like this.

Gabriel Fauré’s Sicilienne played from my cellular phone as I soaked my form in a warm bath to release the tension from my muscles; I closed my eyes, breathing in the lavender’s sweet aroma as I slowly sank myself further into the water—thinking that if I indulged myself in the suds longer, the feeling of disgust would go away. I rubbed my hands around my body, massaging every area where the man has touched me, attempting to rid myself from the dirt left by his fingertips. My palm then rested gently on my sore cheek, trying to recall Brahms’ warmth—instead of the thief’s harsh blows.

I sighed as the image of Brahms flashed in my mind. Honestly, I had mixed impressions of him; at first, it was difficult to adjust to the strange happenings that took place in the manor, but learning the truth as to why these disturbances occurred was on an entirely different level of shock… and relief.

I was happy that I wasn’t going crazy like I’ve originally thought; I wasn’t living with a poltergeist or a grieving soul, but with an actual warm-blooded human being—one thing bothered me about his appearance though…

I wonder what’s with the eerie mask…

My eyes were starting to feel heavy so I decided to go to bed and rest. I wrapped the fresh cotton towel around my hair as I drained the bathtub, put on some white linen knickers, sky blue cotton shorts, and a loose woven pastel yellow pullover with floral embroidery that reached above my knees; I grabbed my little gadget from the basin sink and made my way out.

I plugged the earphones onto my cellular phone and wore one on my left ear—remembering the little tip my psychotherapist told me so that I could easily lull myself to rest; the right ear is commonly known to be more able to pick up rapid speech, so the left ear is better at picking up musical tones. The jolly tune of Erik Satie’s Je Te Veux played softly as I closed my eyes, anticipating my much awaited slumber.

The sudden sharp sound of the telephone made me jump, interrupting my berceuse. It was already around quarter to midnight when the line rang, so it piqued my interest as to who the caller was.

I propped myself up and reached for the telephone, leaning on the cushioned headboard as I placed the handset against my unoccupied ear before mumbling a quiet hello. I pressed the button on my earphones to pause the song, so that I could hear the caller more clearly; I was greeted by nothingness—only the sound of static and fervid breathing was at the other end of the line.

After a few moments, just as when I was about to ask who it was, the person disconnected, filling my ears with deafening silence. I slowly placed the handset back on the tiny device, trying to think of anyone who would want to confabulate at this unholy hour.

I immediately realized that the breathing on the telephone was similar to Brahms’ back when he came close to me—checking to see if I was alright.

I remembered how… gentle his touch was and how kind his emerald eyes were to me as opposed to his belligerent fists and hostile glares at the thief.

The memory of the Heelshire made me jittery; the unwavering feeling of repaying him fueled my veins with adrenaline. I quickly got out of bed, taking the medical kit along with me and left my room. This time I was determined to aid Brahms.

“Brahms?” I called out at the emptiness of the dimly lit hallway, scanning the narrow space to see if he was around, straining my ears as much as I could to try and pick up any creaking or treading sounds—if there were any.

I jumped as the gramophone from the study room started to operate; playing Franz Schubert’s Ständchen loudly from the other end of the hall. I smiled at the thought that Brahms was ready to meet me and paced towards the area hastily, following the mellow melody; somewhat eager to catch the culprit behind the mischievous act. Light escaped the room as I quickly approached it—the entire endeavor made my heart flutter as I practically ran to the study room.

When I made a sharp turn to enter the space, I bumped onto a large sturdy figure that made me fall on the floor. 

My heart began to ring in my ears as I finally managed to find Brahms—or rather the latter allowing himself to be found. He stood in front of me, his broad back faced me as his head was tilted slightly, presumably staring at the gramophone, trailing his fingers against the device’s horn; Brahms then jerked his hand inside the pocket of his stained beige cardigan from earlier and took out something, probably flabbergasted at the sudden impact of my body colliding with his.

It took a while, but Brahms ultimately turned to face me, his porcelain mask steadily intact.

I blinked in astonishment, still perplexed as to why he wore such a harrowing disguise. Brahms stared at me intently, breathing heavily as if he was quite nervous himself—before bending his form a bit and extended a large palm towards me.

“Oh… thank you…”

I took his hand and stood up, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on my grip. Brahms held my form for support, waiting for me to balance my footing before pulling away. I gave him a quick nod, my cheeks dusted with a pink hue; he cocked his head slightly, confused at my greeting before nodding a little as well.

“So…” I gripped the handle of the medical box tightly. I never thought I’d feel so anxious around Brahms when I’ve been looking literally everywhere for him just some time ago. The man gazed at me, his intense stare making me melt. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat before continuing, “I’d like to treat your scrapes… If it’s okay with you, Brahms…”

Brahms' stare became sharp, as if he didn't believe that I wanted to treat him. This lasted for a few seconds before his eyes softened and I heard a little sigh echo from his porcelain mask and gave me a small nod.

* * *

I removed the musical sheets from the music rack and placed them on the nearby table—closing the fallboard thereafter so that the medical kit was nearby. We both sat on the piano bench, our knees slightly touching; before the feeling of self-awareness creeps up on me, I hastily asked for Brahms to hold out one of his hands as I reached for the box full of supplies.

The man complied earnestly, placing his large hand on my palm; I ran my thumb across the skinned surface whilst asking him a few queries before we got started. It irked me when Brahms only nod and shook his head so I remarked that he was being rude and decided ask him questions that weren’t answerable by yes or no—much to my dismay, his emerald eyes darkened, glaring intensely at me—cautiously warning me to not go overboard with my inquiries; I instinctively looked down on the back of his hand and continued to treat its abrasion.

After cleaning the graze with some disinfectant and placing plasters on some of the cuts, I sighed in delight as I managed finish cleaning his scrapes; even though I fumbled with his hands, Brahms didn’t complain at all.

“Thank you for bearing with me…” I laughed, giving the man a sheepish grin before praising him.

“You were a very good boy.”

I was surprised at how the darkness in Brahms’ eyes visibly lit up as I said that, making me think that he was sort of child-like—his mood instantly improving from a simple compliment. I was entranced by his emerald eyes, unable to help myself from contemplating at them; Brahms took notice and looked away, as if he was ashamed.

Suddenly, an uncanny high-pitched voice whispered, seemingly out of nowhere.

“…you’re… not afraid of me?”

My mouth fell agape when I perceived that the words came from Brahms, blinking my eyes in disbelief that he was able to articulate a chime-like tune.

Muddled thoughts started to swirl around in my mind, jumbling up different notions about the mysterious Heelshire. Silence filled the room as my addled head tried to concoct a reply; Brahms faced me as he waited for me to speak, his ghostly disguise still giving me the creeps.

I shook my head slightly, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not afraid of you…”


	12. Habituation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm sorry if it took so long for me to release this chapter. I was down with the fever and felt a bit under the weather. I'm feeling quite well now and I have a few chapters ready!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! :) See you in the succeeding chapters!

As soon as those words rolled off my tongue, Brahms stared at me cynically; his emerald eyes felt like they were burning holes through my form—the feeling was dreadfully hot and uncomfortable, and the urge of running away slowly engulfing me. I knew deep down that I had to act fast; I was notorious for stirring up misunderstandings, but I didn’t want him to mistake my faulty reply—the last thing I’d want to do was to make someone feel disheartened about their own self.

“…Why would I be afraid?” I asked nervously, clenching my knees.

“You saved me, after all… If it weren’t for you, who knows what could’ve happened—”

Brahms suddenly grabbed my wrist and held it tightly, still skeptical of my words. My eyes widened at the unforeseen movement; I was immediately reminded of what his strength was capable of. My eyes fixated on the back of his pale hand as his fingers wrapped around my carpals firmly, slowly feeling my own hand getting numb due to his burning hot flesh and the lack of blood circulation.

“I-in fact, I’m grateful for your presence.” I stuttered weakly, almost wincing as his grasp grew tighter and tighter—it was like he was trying to make me confess of my lies.

That wasn’t the case though, that’s why I shouldn’t falter.

I took a deep breath and sighed lowly, gathering every bit of confidence as I could before clashing his emerald eyes with mine; Brahms twitched slightly, flinching in surprise that I didn’t back down—he continued to stare at me quizzically though, scanning my form for any indication of suspicion.

I swallowed a bit to moisten my throat before speaking again. “How should I put this…? I’m not scared of you, Brahms… although, I’m mainly intrigued. There’s a difference.”

The Heelshire cocked his head profusely, taken aback at my statement. Maybe he was expecting a different answer or he wanted to frighten me off, but whatever the case was, what I said was the truth; he aroused my curiosity that I wanted to quench it—there were so many questions left unanswered.

I knew that I had to be honest and sincere with the man if I’d want to get answers to what’s really going on.

Brahms’ eyes narrowed at my implied inquisitiveness and looked down; fixating his gaze at our palms. The sight of my pallid skin must’ve made him feel uneasy since he released my hand albeit slowly—I immediately drew my wrist against my chest in an instant, rubbing my other thumb against the sore skin of my carpals as it began to regain its color. Brahms stared at me as I did; the sound of our breathing filled the room. Neither of us uttered a word until I involuntarily released a quiet sigh, urging the man to glance at the grandfather clock and then at the heavily cloaked windows of the study room.

It was already the crack of dawn.

The both of us stood up, silently agreeing that it was indeed time for bed. Brahms towered beside me, cautiously watching my every move as I packed the contents of the medical kit away in its container—only taking his leave after I finished and closed the plastic box.

I guess he was still dubious of my words, judging by his behavior.

It’s alright though, I’ve had many experiences trying to win the trust of my wary pupils before—the only difference was that this time, it’s with a full grown man and I’ve never properly understood how their internal machinations really work.

A sigh escaped my lips once more as I left the study room, making my way back to my chambers.

* * *

As I made myself comfortable in bed, I decided to fiddle with my cellular phone for a bit, finding myself opening Malcolm’s contact information. I’ve never been the one to listen to the grocers’ gossips, but I do remember a few of my co-workers boisterously teasing Malcolm about ‘tolerating’ the Heelshires.

Now guilty as charged—I’d like to sit down and talk with my former superior about the family and such now that I found out something I think I shouldn’t have.

A part of me keeps on nagging myself to just drop it and wait for the Heelshires’ to return so that I can get the answers from a direct source and drift off to sleep, but I’ve barely known anything about the family since I've started taking care of the doll and the prior events had apprehension and adrenaline pumping blood all over me.

The faint sound of birds chirping filled my ears as the sun began to fill the horizon outside my window. I made up my mind to make breakfast first before taking a nap so I briefly shot Malcolm a short text message before making my way out to the corridor and down the stairwell.

I made a quick stop at the parlor; eyeing remnants of the mess caused by the little scene yesterday, before pulling out a vinyl disc of Gabriel Fauré’s collection and placed it on the gramophone. As the tune of Pavane permeated across the foyer, I made my way to the kitchen and thought of preparing something heavy for both Brahms and I.

I mean, he does eat what I prepare, right? I concluded that I needed to make a little bit more than I usually do since he wasn’t a child at all unlike the initial premise.

Since the early morning felt quite chilly due to my lack of sleep and impending fatigue, I decided to make some chicken noodle soup. As I acquired all of the ingredients needed for the dish, something popped in my head.

“I wonder if I should I call out to him around the manor when it’s time to eat?” I mindlessly whispered to myself as I chopped some carrots and celery and dropped it in the boiling water.

The thought of eating with him made me quite uneasy though—I wasn’t particularly fond of being under the same roof with someone, let alone living with a man. It just feels really weird now that I’m aware of Brahms’ true existence.

Before I knew it, the meal was prepared and I left it to simmer down a bit as I set the table with the necessary dishes and cutlery.

Apres un Reve’s melody played soothingly in the background as I wiped my hands against the fabric of the floral apron—untied and removed it from my body—and hung it on the hook by the doorframe. I walked around the foyer for a bit, calling Brahms as I did, using various modulations of my voice; a high-pitched tune at first, and then a tone where I tried to impersonate an old man after.

As I stifled a laugh at my own awkwardness and embarrassment, I jumped as I felt the Heelshire suddenly towering over behind me, prompting my form to turn around and face him.

There he was yet again, wearing the façade made of porcelain and still in his raggedy garbs from the day before. I tilt my head in confusion—didn’t he clean himself up after taking his leave earlier?

“Uhm… good morning,” I started, looking away.

I was unsure of where to look since his outward appearance was honestly very creepy to me; I’ll be frank, it would be much better if he took his dreadful mask off. I resigned to myself and looked at our bare feet—the only thing similar to the both of us at the moment. This made Brahms inch himself closer to my form, closing the space between us. As I stood frozen on the spot, all I could hear was his labored sighs as if he had a hard time breathing in air. I wouldn’t be surprised though; his mask seemed to really filter out his air intake since I remember the slits under the bridge of its nose being very tiny.

Brahms’ chin barely grazed the top of my head, his facial hair tickling my scalp. A shiver ran through my spine as his musky smell invaded my nostrils making me flinch—in return, he inhaled sharply a few times before I realized that he was breathing in my scent. I lowered my head more, feeling shy all of a sudden.

I clasped my hands together tightly as I tried to break the moment.

“Let’s… uh… we… let’s…” I stuttered although in a whisper, much to my chagrin. Why was it so hard for me to communicate with him? I made it clear last night that I wasn’t afraid, but what’s with this anxious air around him?

As if Brahms understood my inarticulate glubbing, he took my hand gently, filling my senses with his warm touch. I looked up, catching a glimpse of his soft green orbs. He lifted our palms to his eye-level, watching intently as he intertwined our fingers together; his eyes had a faint glint, as if they were sparkling.

The whole scenario was so surreal. It seemed like holding someone’s hand was something very magical to the man.

Brahms then tugged at me as he led the both of us back to the kitchen—his footsteps were noticeably slow and careful, barely emitting any sound as his form weighed against the wooden floorboards of the foyer.

No wonder I was never really able to detect his presence before; he was sort of like a ninja or something. I could only hear it when everything else is really quiet and still.

As we arrived in the pantry, the chicken noodle soup was already served in each of our respective soup dish and the utensil void of its contents was already discarded into the kitchen sink.

“…did you do this?” I asked as we both stood in front of the embellished counter. I felt a soft yet hesitant squeeze from Brahms as his non-verbal reply and smiled a bit at the gesture.

“That’s very helpful of you, Brahms. Thank you.”

Brahms hastily released my hand and motioned me to sit down so that we—I could start eating. He sat beside me and gazed as I barely touched the soup.

Besides the fact that I haven’t slept a wink since yesterday and am currently dying to climb back to my bed, the feeling of his eyes on me as I ate didn’t really help my appetite either.

Since we’re both still adjusting to this new set-up, it would be best if I ate the serving he graciously got me. It took a while, but I was able to finish the meal up to the very last drop and took a sip of water.

I sat in uncomfortable silence as Brahms froze on his spot. He hasn’t taken a sip of the soup at all. Would he prefer if I left him alone as he quenched his hunger? I could hear the slight quake his stomach was making—we didn’t eat anything last night after all.

Brahms’ mask was still intact and it looked like he wasn’t going to remove it any time soon. Well, not in front of me at least.

He cocked his head as he noticed my little slip at his mask. Since it was evident that he was watching my every move, I decided to utilize it and glanced back and forth from his face to the soup, hoping that he would get my subtle signal. Soon enough, Brahms took the shiny silver soup spoon in his large hand and clenched it firmly; I saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down his throat as the seconds agonizingly pass by.

After contemplating on what to do next, I hesitated quite a bit before asking quietly, “…should I leave you to your meal? It’s getting cold…”

My eyes landed on Brahms’ form to check if there were any subtle shifts. The man’s head was cast down as he looked at the meal, probably lost deep within his thoughts. Before I could ask my question again, I heard Brahms abruptly clear his throat.


	13. Rarity (Brahms' POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know that I've been away but I'm back! Thank you very much for all of the hits and kudos! :)
> 
> I've been meaning to update for quite awhile but things have been hectic in real life. I promise to get back to uploading once I'm settled. Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Here's a short chapter in Brahms' POV. Hope everyone likes it! :D

Many peculiarities have befallen between me and Josephine during the course of the luxurious absence of mummy and daddy.

Most of them were mostly my anomalous antics, yet I have never thought that something as grave as a stranger breaking in would take place in my home that would force me to expose myself.

At first, I have decided that all I would do was to dial up the grocery man mummy and daddy frequently called every Thursdays’ telephone number and let him overhear everything that was happening—in hopes that he would come on time to help Josephine.

Unfortunately, the thief had the audacity to touch my beautiful nanny—and soon enough, rage pumped adrenaline in my veins that I didn’t even dare to hesitate to hurt the man who was about to destroy what was mine.

Well, one thing led to another and here we are, having breakfast together in the kitchen pantry for the first time ever.

I was so invested in watching the girl that I didn’t touch the food she prepared; I wanted to savor the moment as the both of us partook our breakfast. I have observed that her movements were sluggish than usual since the prior events has been deemed tiring.

Realizing this, it made me feel very grateful—rather privileged—that even though she barely had any rest, she willingly chose to cook and share a meal with me.

The current predicament was that she has finished eating her meal and it was now my turn to consume the flavorful liquid.

Josephine patiently waited for me to speak after I immediately cleared my throat at her question.

I was delighted that she was considerate of me—asking if she should leave so that I could take my time eat since I wore my mask the entirety of our time together; she probably surmised that I didn’t want to show my true face to her just yet.

Her assumption was undoubtedly correct, but I had something different playing in my mind. I pursed my lips under my disguise before uttering a small sigh.

Beads of sweat began to form all over my body as I wanted to ask her to remain by my side.

"Please…" I trailed off in my mutated voice, hesitation evident in my words as I glanced at Josephine and awaited her reaction.

Somehow I didn't feel the need to change my voice at this moment. I sensed that it would be alright to show Josephine what I really sound like after seeing her confused state last night—when I showcased my failure of an attempt to imitate a child’s tone.

I wondered what she thought of my voice though; it has been years since I’ve allowed my tone to escape my lips without any alteration. Its sole purpose was to serve as my illusory friend when I imagined certain things up inside my mind.

Josephine tilted her head slightly, trying to grasp my request.

I felt like I was allowed to ask something as selfish as to wish for more company from her, but how could I do so without getting in trouble? Back when I was a child, I ended up getting reprimanded for wanting more of mummy and daddy’s attention despite their busy schedules—a childhood acquaintance often teased me about it as well, fervently muttering words of spite like how ‘I was behaving like a baby’ and that I should ‘grow up.’

My eyes narrowed at the sudden flashback, my hand losing its grip on the soup spoon, letting the piece of cutlery drop in the pool of viands. Embarrassment washed over me as I quickly averted my eyes to the girl, only to see her looking down with her eyes closed.

I cocked my head in confusion as she did, causing myself to examine her form for a while until she whispered quietly to me.

“I’ll wait for you, if that’s what you wanted to say.”

My eyes widened at the sudden realization that dawned upon me.

Josephine closed her eyes so that I could eat.

She must’ve known the feeling of how lonely it was to eat a meal alone—the girl heard my plea and indulged me in it; and as if to reassure me, she added albeit in another soft whisper, “I promise not to take a peek… although I might drift off and take a nap…”

A smile threatened to tug at my lips as she spoke. Josephine sounded like she was in a daze, as if she was already half-asleep.

It was such a pleasant thing to witness.

I already knew that she was a clever girl, but I’m most certain now that I really like how considerate she was of others—that she thought of my feelings as well. I appreciate her little idea; it was a win-win situation for the both of us after all since I’d get to eat without any worry and she’d get to rest even for a brief period of time.

I gave the girl a small nod even though I doubt she would see it and allowed the seconds to pass by as a form of silent agreement.

After a few moments, I saw Josephine’s expression become lax—indicating that she was already taking a nap; that was my cue to start eating.

I slowly removed my pallid porcelain mask, placing it on the counter a few inches away from the glass of water. I placidly breathed in and out, calming my senses before taking the soup spoon and began dipping it into the bowl. My eyes occasionally glance at Josephine’s direction in between scooping and sipping the flavorful fluid—both admiring her profile and checking to see if she was still asleep; I hope that I don’t interrupt her slumber.

This wasn’t what I imagined our first meal together would be, but here she was beside me, honoring my silent request for company and privacy.

I honestly couldn’t ask for more. Yet I know deep down that I was only lying to myself—I know that after this I’d start demanding for Josephine’s attention constantly. I know that I’d soon want to be with her always. I know that my naughtiness will resurface again and again and I could only hope that she—along with mummy and daddy would perpetually forgive and understand me.

It has been years since I’ve learnt to let go of this disgusting neediness, that I shouldn’t attach myself to where I didn’t belong, yet why on earth do I feel that this unwanted feeling of mine is slowly coming back alive?

A grimace formed on my face as I felt dreadful for thinking too much and carried on with my meal.

As I finished drowning in my thoughts, I stood up quietly, carefully gathering our dirty dishes and made my way towards the kitchen sink. I turned the faucet loose slowly so that I wouldn’t disturb Josephine’s slumber, carefully washing everything in haste and placed them all delicately back to their respective cupboards in only a short matter of time. When I wiped my hands with the kitchen towel, I took my time to admire the plasters Josephine placed on the cuts of my hands last night—they didn’t get wet at all when I washed the dishes and they were adorned with tiny colorful designs on it; I wonder if she’d replace them with new ones once the adhesive doesn’t stick anymore.

I took the porcelain mask from the counter and put it back on its proper place—hiding my horrid façade. I didn’t know how I’d go about waking Josephine up so I thought about random trivial matters as I waited for the wall clock to strike at exactly 7:00 AM in the morning.

My frantic heart was ringing in my ears as the minutes and seconds hands aligned simultaneously on the bold number 12 on top of the clock.

Soon after, a small chime echoed throughout the kitchen pantry. It played a few times until the minute passed—I watched Josephine intently as her form slowly came to life. She stretched in her place and rubbed her face for a bit before opening her eyes, cautiously keeping those wondrous chocolate swirls glued down to her knees as she was reminded of my presence; she scanned the table as she gasped a little before internalizing that I have cleaned up as she slept.

Josephine’s cheeks were dusted with a pink hue, although I have no notion as to why they would. She kept her head low in result of her irresolute and breathed in and out a few times before she started speaking.

“Thank you… for cleaning up,” she said, rather meekly. “…although, you didn’t have to.”

Ahh…

Alright, I understand now.

The girl was embarrassed that I did her job for her; she’s currently under the employment of mummy and daddy and she’s still my nanny. Technically, I was sort of one of her employers as well—I wholeheartedly disagree though, I see everything in a completely different light and I don’t mind doing chores at all. I always cleaned after myself and what I did was already second to nature.

“…you kept your promise,” was all the words I could muster as I felt my throat dry up and heat begin to well up inside me.

My train of thought was interrupted by the shy smile Josephine showed me and the next thing I knew, our eyes were locked onto each other. I was mesmerized at her lovely warm smile. It was a rare occasion to see such pure and innocent orbs directed at me. They were especially unadulterated—not like the others back then that usually catch a glimpse of me anytime during the day.

…until when?

Fog began to form in my mind as my vision began to blur. Darkness soon began to build up inside me as those words popped in my head. I clenched the surface of my pate harshly as the intolerable severity of an impending headache was threatening to crush my skull—my other free hand formed into a fist and my breathing became evidently laborious.

My sudden shift was enough to cement a worried expression on Josephine’s face as she watched me crumble and give in to my thoughts—she hurriedly grabbed an ice pack from the refrigerator and tried to hand it to me.

Without thinking, I slapped the cool object away from her hands and saw it slide and spin on the tiled floor at the edge of a cupboard. I felt guilt and shame engulfing my form, causing me to abruptly get up and hastily leave the kitchen pantry. I jolted carelessly into the foyer, making my way to the nearest passage I could remember.

The last thing I heard from the girl was my name called out in a hush as I desperately made my way through the walls.


	14. Epistles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here's another one to make up for the times I've been away. Well... I'll post the next part soon... :)
> 
> I don't really have a concept as to what long or short chapter is so... have a fresh new chapter!
> 
> Anyways! Again, I'll never get tired of thanking each and every one who read, comment and gave a kudos to this little story of mine! It makes me really happy that you enjoy this piece as much as I had fun thinking of what to do with the characters! :D

I stood alone in the middle of the kitchen pantry, my eyes fixated on the ice pack that Brahms had just slapped away from my grasp.

We were having breakfast not so long ago—I presumed everything was going well since we ate our meals in peace, but something suddenly happened to the Heelshire that caused him to storm out.

It took me awhile before picking up the cold slippery item from the floor and placing it in the sink. I’ll deal with that later, what’s important right now is that I have to find Brahms and help him with whatever might’ve triggered him; I couldn’t help but think that I had played a role in it.

Yet as I was about to leave the pantry, the thought of making things worse crossed my mind. I figured chasing Brahms would do more harm than good. If he had lived all his life inside this large house deprived of all human interaction—except for his parents—for over a few decades, what we just did probably stressed him out.

Everything’s fresh and new to Brahms and he needs his space and privacy. The least I could do is respect that. I guess he’ll come around after he calms down.

I pulled out a tray from the cupboard and placed it on the counter whilst reaching for a glass and filled it with water. The medicine box was back in my room so I carried the tray and made my way up the stairs—this immediately proved to be a challenge to me since I was a bit clumsy; I took my time climbing the mahogany planks very slowly, careful not to miss a step.

As I successfully reached the hallway and was now almost to my destination, I delicately set the tray down on the carpeted floor as I opened the door to my room, scanning the bland space in search for the aid kit I had and smiled when I found it sitting on the bed stand. Aspirin should help alleviate Brahms’ pain so I sat on the soft mattress and rummaged through the plastic box looking for the said medicine.

I’m glad that I still have a few of them left, since I also needed my fix when pain resonated throughout my whole being—I may add some of it in the next delivery so that Malcolm could replenish my stock.

I took two to three pills, jamming it inside my pocket and hastily left my chambers.

Assuming that Brahms did live and stayed somewhere at the attic, I stood at the foot of it, making use of the wooden pole nearby to knock at the entrance.

“Brahms…?” I started, letting a few moments pass to try and hear if he was responding.

“Here’s some… a-aspirin…” I said as I double checked the medicine from my rear pocket and placed it on the metallic tray.

“Please help yourself… uh… for your headache…” I called out again but in a stutter, suddenly feeling scared that I might upset him further with my intrusion.

I looked around the hallway for something that couldn’t be misinterpreted, something black and white, so that I wouldn’t confuse and create any more misunderstandings. I eyed a small notepad and sign pen by the table alongside a vintage lamp and the tiny rotary dial telephone.

“That’ll do.” I whispered to myself as I fumbled towards the table and quickly scribbled a little note to leave on the tray.

‘I hope you’re okay.’ was amicably etched on the parchment.

A smile formed on my lips as I tear the piece of paper from the rest of the vellum notepad and placed it on the tray alongside the placid glass of water and aspirin pills.

“I’ll… leave it here, okay… Brahms?” I said as I reluctantly left the tray at the foot of the attic and made my way back to my room.

I stared at the little clock on the bed stand as I silently shuffled through the medical kit—packing its contents away; it was only 7:30 in the morning since we had breakfast a little too early.

A yawn escaped my lips as I was reminded of the thought about going back to sleep until it was time for lunch, but I couldn’t help the urge of wanting to follow the daily routine in Brahms’ schedule so that he wouldn’t get aggravated any more than he is at the moment.

I took out the clipboard from the drawer and lied myself down whilst scanning the writings on the paper; I could sleep until around 11 o’clock—‘that’s four hours!’ I chimed to myself happily—and then I can have enough energy to do the chores, make lunch and survive the rest of the day. I could always sneak some Zs when I can as well.

The clipboard slipped from my grasp and hit my face as I mused about how much sleep I was going to get. I rubbed my nose in exasperation as I tossed the board by the bed stand and buried my face in the soft fluffy pillows—blacking out after a few moments.

* * *

I woke up to the feeling of my heart clamoring against my chest; I had a dream where I was back at the parlor, reliving the moment when I was saved by Brahms. The shrill yelping of the man as the Heelshire horrifyingly deformed his form echoed throughout the abyss.

I closed my eyes again to stabilize myself before sitting up.

“What… time is it?” I asked myself before looking at the clock, rubbing my temples. As I wore my glasses, I noticed the tint of the light was different. My stomach dropped as I saw the hands of the little clock pointed at the ‘12’ and ‘5’.

How could I have overslept? I had a plan going on… The memory of forgetting to set an alarm invisibly slapped me in the face as covered my face with my hands. I could barely imagine the mess Brahms probably made since I missed doing a lot of things today…

Usually, it would be Brahms’ room that would’ve suffered the most damage since I assumed he deemed ownership to everything inside it and that he had the freedom to do whatever with its contents without getting into much trouble with his parents. His toys would be scattered and/or broken, items of clothing would seemingly escape the closet and would be found around the small space sometimes partially ripped, and his little rocking chair would be either on his bed or tumbled down against the carpeted floor.

Brahms' toys were very old-fashioned and while I admire Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire's dedication to preserve its antiquity, I was relieved that I didn't have to gaze upon some of the creepy items in their son's collection anymore.

Around the house was a different kind of story. Brahms could only do so much as to misplace some of the flamboyant pieces that adorned the manor for me to find and fix—he never really broke any of his parent’s belongings.

I hastily left my chambers, rushing to the hallway whilst preparing myself of what awaits me. I checked every nook and cranny of the house yet much to my surprise; Brahms didn’t stir anything up this time.

Maybe he really was in great pain…

The tray I left by the foot of the attic popped into my mind as I climbed back up the stairs. My footsteps were clumsy as I impatiently headed for the hallway.

I bent down to the silver metallic disc, examining its contents. The glass and the pills were gone, but the note I left remained in place.

…no, this wasn’t my note. The paper’s crumpled, the edges were roughly torn, and my print letters morphed into cursive writing…

Could it be?

I gulped a bit as I picked up the small parchment, my curious eyes undeniably glued on its surface. My eyes widened as I have realized only now something so obvious it would’ve jumped at me if it was a rabid animal.

The words and handwriting’s different.

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I read the short and somewhat saccharine message etched on the paper. I felt relieved that I somehow alleviated Brahms’ suffering and that I could safely assume that he appreciated my help.

‘Thank you.’ I read a few times again and again.

Well, that was until my little moment was interrupted when my cellular phone beeped, receiving a text message from Malcolm.


	15. Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next part as promised! I hope everyone likes it!
> 
> I'm sorry for taking so long every time... life gets in the way. I'll work on it though! :)
> 
> As always, thank you very much for checking out my story and even going as far as leaving comments and kudos!

I was sitting on the porch with the porcelain doll on my lap as I admired the vast expanse of nature that surrounded the Heelshire property. It’s been days since I had my breakfast with Brahms; I haven’t seen the man after that and everything seemingly went back to normal—except for my heightened ubiquitous headaches.

When I ran out of aspirin pills, I turned to the ointment my mother made as my solace; she gave it to me since I was prone to motion sickness. It didn’t take long until I was also out of the herbal liquid and had to rely on a hot and/or cold compress for the rest of the week. I was dreading for Friday to come so that Malcolm would drop by with the weekly deliveries and give me my fresh batch of analgesic pills and embrocating oil; I doubt it would be stronger than the ones made from home—something is better than nothing I suppose.

My friend also mentioned about sitting down to ascertain our alibi—if ever the thief from before regains consciousness and unnecessarily decides to go to the police to report his assault. I also messaged Malcolm not too long ago to cement some notions and stipulations I had about my employers.

So here I was, calmly swinging my leather-clad feet in the air as I leaned by the stony pillar, humming the tune of ‘Heart and Soul’ by Hoagy Carmichael, and closing my eyes as I enjoyed the serenity of the mid-day.

* * *

I got up as the sound of an engine revving could be heard from the distance before Malcolm’s onyx station wagon turned from the curb and into the driveway. He gave me a small wave and his usual charming smile as he parked his car. As he got out of the vehicle, he motioned the trunk open and carried the cardboard box filled with goods while I on the other hand, made my way to the manor’s entrance—carrying Brahms on my left arm while simultaneously opening the front door with my right.

“Hello there,” he beamed at me, before entering the dimly lit hall. “How are you and Brahms holding up these past few days?”

I couldn’t help but grimace at what the brunette said as we made our way to the kitchen. I placed the fragile porcelain doll on its usual seat, straightening its clothes before approaching the man standing before the large cardboard container.

“I don’t know why but my head has been trying to kill me for days.”

Malcolm only gave me a little hum as a form of acknowledgement as he duly surveyed the list of groceries he brought. When he became aware of my presence, he took it as an unspoken signal that it was time for us to start.

“…on the brink of… death, you say?” he trailed off absentmindedly, reiterating my text message from before as he rummaged through the contents and handed me my analgesic pills and menthol vapor rub; my face visibly lit up as soon as he did—quickly popping a pill in my mouth and grabbing one of the water bottles inside the box to wash away the pellet into my system. As if that wasn’t enough, I removed the ointment’s cap and inhaled the lingering smell of herbs and… menthol to calm my nerves.

When I finished my little ritual, Malcolm had a worried expression plastered on his face.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t a serious issue,” I said, shrugging off the fact that I may as well already be slightly dependent of embrocation materials.

It took us a while but Malcolm and I were now situated at the kitchen, sitting directly across from each other in the deafening silence as we were about to discuss the issue at hand—unraveling the unknown back story of the Heelshires.

“Phine, why don’t we take a walk outside instead?” Malcolm said, fidgeting in his seat before clearing his throat. He was probably a bit uncomfortable divulging gossip about the regal family inside the actual manor since he’s been associates with them for years; I feel kind of bad for making him feel like he’s betraying the old couple.

I gave him a reassuring smile—he doesn’t need to do this if he doesn’t want to…

“Yeah, a walk would be nice.” I said shortly after, inadvertently glancing at Brahms. Malcolm took it as a subtle hint that we had to bring the porcelain doll with us; he didn’t protest at all though, even offering to carry the ‘child’ on the way back.

“It’s almost time to clean the traps anyway.”

He immediately stood up, straightening himself as I was about to hand him Brahms. Malcolm’s hands were delicate, as if he was holding a very valuable gem that would shatter the very moment he’s not careful with it—clumsily allowing the wooden plank slam on him as he used his back as a doorstopper and made his way out the door.

I took out a pair of disposable latex gloves and a black semi-transparent trash bag, putting them in my rear pocket in case it was time for the scheduled cleaning whilst I follow Malcolm outside. Subconsciously, I looked behind my back, fixating my eyes on the etiolated hallway; I must be imagining it, but I felt a tingling shiver run down my spine… as if someone was staring at me.

Despite this, the warmth of Malcolm’s hand was enough to make me jump—and brush off the eerie feeling crawling on my skin as he took my hand in his. I guess he never grew out of this habit of his; even way back at the shop, he used to tease me with sudden touches.

He knew any sudden contact would elicit surprise from me and he claimed that my reactions were always fascinating.

“Shall we?” The brunette insisted as a smirk plastered on his smug face, trying to suppress a chuckle.

* * *

I deliberately stepped on every dried leaf I encountered on the ground, satisfying the child within me as we strolled around the vast property. Malcolm was currently telling me his and Greta’s saccharine ventures around town, enjoying themselves—clearly both of them are smitten with each other and I couldn’t be happier for my friend.

You could tell he’s genuinely buoyant for the first time in his bleak and mundane life as a shop owner in a small dreary town in the countryside of Europe.

All I could do was smile and hum jovially as Malcolm chatted away, letting the hours pass by serenely—I decided not to bring up the Heelshires for the time being since catching up is less straining for both of our consciences.

“Ah, right.” Malcolm suddenly stopped, shifting Brahms on his other arm to show the pocket of his jacket. “Take out the letters… they’re for you.”

“Okay,” I said as I took the alleged epistles out of his pocket. The stack contained approximately five letters—most of it was from the Heelshires associates, another was a private letter with the family crest on it, and one contained my salary; I was starting to doubt Malcolm’s words that there was a letter addressed personally to me until I came across an enveloped filled with colorful scribbles.

‘for Phine,’ was clumsily written at the back of the envelope.

My smile was wide as I already knew who etched my name on the parchment—I was the one who taught her how to write again after all. She was a very fond friend of mine whom I met around the town.

How could I ever forget Emily?


	16. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back! I had a lot of time to write so please do expect a few more updates today!
> 
> Thank you once again for reading! I hope you like it!

Malcolm towered behind me as my gaze lingered on the envelope, tracing my friend's handwriting with my fingers slowly.

"I... honestly never thought Emily would look for me." I said, almost in a whisper as my fingers tugged at the sealed flap of the envelope temptingly. I recalled how Antionette fervently recapitulated me of my friend’s forgetfulness.

Emily was a disabled woman who actually owned the flower shop I used to work at. Antionette took charge after her mother, Emily’s aunt, said that the shop was losing profit and dropped all negotiations with it. I guess her cousin wanted her to be happy so she moved in with Emily brought it all back to life; Antionette takes care of the shop and looks after cousin simultaneously—she’s a very dedicated and kind woman.

I came into the equation when I got lost in town and was too afraid to ask the civilians around for directions. I took notice of the little shop and decided to gaze at the beautiful blossoms whilst trying to get a hold of my employer at the time; little did I know that Antionette’s Garden would be my next job.

Emily appeared to be around in her late thirties but was hiding behind some succulents and was staring at me. I was startled at first, curious as to why she was hiding, but I decided to approach her; I could never forget how scared she looked when I brought my closed palm in front of her as I offered her some caramel candy. The blonde woman also wore a sort of helmet on her head and had a wry smile painted on her face.

Antionette soon came out from the back door and greeted me before politely introducing themselves. I soon became a regular guest at the place—until I decided to quit my métier at the publishing firm.

Emily was ecstatic back then; gifting me flowers and some drawings she made.

“Shall we take a look inside Emily’s little world?” Malcolm grinned, as he placed his free arm over my shoulders—bringing me back to reality. Apparently, the brunette’s friends with them as well… I wonder if he doesn’t get along with anyone… I guess it’s impossible not to be friends with a kind and charming English man. I nodded a little before opening the casing, curious as to what Emily’s message contains.

What awaited me were a few pages filled with scribbles of our little adventures back then. I perused each parchment and smiled at how each colorful illustration reminded me of our time together; we planted flowers, made some ornaments, painted a few pots, and drew a lot of wonderful illustrations—I really enjoyed Emily’s company.

I suddenly felt bad for not even giving the shop a call ever since I started working for the elderly couple.

“She’s quite the artist,” Malcolm said, interrupting my thoughts once again. I nodded at his statement as we went through all of her drawings. A little note fell out and my friend instinctively caught it with his hand, crumpling the paper in the process.

“Sorry,” he apologized, straightening the parchment before we took a look at it. Malcolm raised a brow at the jumbled letters, chuckling a bit at Emily’s messy and egregious writing; I on the other hand smiled warmly. I appreciated her courtesy… even though everything was barely readable, she went through the trouble of making me this lovely letter—she did her best after all….

I was able to decipher her cryptic message.

‘I miss you.

Please visit garden.

No one want to play.

Emily’

“Quite a gifted fellow are you?” Malcolm said, feigning astonishment causing me to playfully scoff at him.

“It’s not that difficult to construe,” I said, laughing at how silly his words were.

“One of the skills you develop as a preschool teacher.”

Malcolm suddenly glanced at the porcelain doll in his arms before speaking again.

“You used to handle little children… Is that right?” the man reiterated as a pool of warmth spread through my gut. As much as how routinely my life was back at home, maybe I do miss being with children. Maybe that’s why I was compelled to call the Heelshires for the nanny job—I miss the crazy shenanigans my pupils did back then and wanted to experience their quirky antics all over again.

Being with the Heelshires was a different kind of rush though.

My thoughts were interrupted when Malcolm’s cellular phone began to ring. Apparently, it was almost time for his dinner date with Greta and she wants him to wrap things up over here so that they won’t be late.

I told my friend to go on ahead and that I could manage cleaning the traps on my own, but he insisted on offering help just this once. I felt a bit worried—I don’t want any trouble to brew up between them over something like this.

Even though Malcolm told me to drop it, I refuse to do so and stubbornly try reasoning out to him.

“Cleaning’s just a measly task, Malcolm… I—”

“Stop worrying about it, Phine,” the brunette sighed before continuing, “Look, it’s alright. Greta will understand. If anything, spending time with you is a rare opportunity and I’d honestly like to prolong it as much as possible.”

“I don’t want to be the cause of any misundersta—”

“Please, Josephine.” Malcolm rebuked me, ending the conversation as we headed back towards the exquisite manor. He handed Brahms slowly to me, getting the latex gloves and trash bag from my rear pocket and cleaned every trap around the mansion’s proximity as I cradled the porcelain doll in my arms feeling rather cumbersome; his gadget rang throughout the entire ordeal and I felt appalled as I anticipated the fight they were going to have when Malcolm gets back at his flat.

* * *

We were now back at the kitchen as my friend washed his hands in silence. Brahms and I were seated neatly by the counter as I ruminated on how I should apologize to Malcolm. I know that he’s a grown man and he’s free to do whatever he wishes, but I went overboard and pried on his decisions—I felt utterly terrible; I’ll apologize when he turns around.

Though, instead of turning around, Malcolm bolted out of the back door and left. Maybe he finally realized that Greta would be fuming if he stayed here for another minute—it would be a very severe predicament, I’m sure.

I blinked a few times as I tried to internalize the situation. Usually he’d say goodbye no matter how in a hurry he would be—maybe Malcolm’s angry with me as well… I’ll try to shoot him an apologetic text message later on…

“Josephine?” Malcolm suddenly spoke, causing me to jump. Oh, he’s still here.

“What… is it?” I asked, looking at him as he came back inside. The brunette grabbed my arm, standing me up and pulling me into his arms for a hug. Malcolm held me securely, breathing sharply a few times before speaking.

“I regret raising my voice on you. I’m an asshole for castigating you. I’m sorry.”

“…it’s okay Malcolm… but…” I said almost inaudibly as Malcolm’s arms buried my form, muffling my voice. I pulled away since the feeling of awkwardness and guilt profoundly crept up my spine.

Malcolm was a bit too touchy.

“It’s best that you head out. Greta will be angry.”

“…right.”

Malcolm’s face was dusted in pink as he laughed nervously; probably embarrassed that he chose to antagonize his girlfriend further. He then held my shoulders tightly, looking into my eyes before whispering something I’d never thought he’d say thereafter beaming at me and leaving the property.

“Take heed of your surroundings and be careful.”

* * *

My friend’s words replayed in my head a few times causing my heart to palpitate. Usually he’d tell me to go out and socialize, and I would always shut him down stating that I won’t feel as bad if the Heelshires were back.

I decided to hum Edith Piaf’s ‘La Vie En Rose,’—one of my mother’s favorite pieces to get the peculiar advice out of my mind as I prepared dinner.

I took out some frozen fish in the fridge to thaw; opening the recipe book to look for the recipe for Tuna Croquettes. Preparing the ingredients took a lot longer than actually frying the fish but listening to the olive oil sizzle against the sauté pan was sort of therapeutic. I was also happy that this recipe was quick to whip up since it was almost time for dinner. I bet… Brahms is famished.

The recording of ‘La Vie En Rose’ suddenly played loudly throughout the foyer, making me jump—even though I knew deep down that it was Brahms’ doing. Maybe this was his way of telling me that he’s ready to see me again and that we would be having a meal together tonight.

I smiled as I indulged in Edith Piaf’s rich French accent as she articulated the message of the song stupendously. The instrumental weaved beautifully with her voice to create such a wonderful and timeless piece—I couldn’t resist humming in tune with its harmony.

As I buried my hands inside my pockets, I felt Emily’s wrinkled letter causing me to reminisce once more.

The woman couldn’t speak properly yet she would often become boisterous whenever we spent some time together—when I wasn’t busy watering the plants at her cousin’s garden.

I paid no attention to her peculiarities until Antionette asked me to come with her to the pub. I figured that it would be something serious since my employer never really left Emily alone—even if she was fast asleep.

She told me about how Emily met with a terrible faith back when she was young and that she felt sorry for the woman. Emily’s parents supposedly had her life all planned out—she had a regal fiancée, she was the heiress of a popular children’s goods manufacturer, and she was set to study overseas; it seems that everything went downhill after she had an irreversible accident that caused her health to decline and her mental state to remain that of a child’s for the remainder of her life.

Emily’s parents thought she was good as dead and lest their ruined reputation, they committed suicide one evening leaving her at the custody of her immediate relatives, Antionette’s family.

I remembered how Antionette poured out her heart—and frustrations out as she swigged her third mug of ale. Emily never asked for any of this to happen per se. All I could do was accompany her, serving as a human confidant.

The sound of someone moving the chair caused me to look up.

Brahms sat beside me, his eyes intensely burning right through me. I looked straight into his gorgeous green orbs as well, giving him a little smile whilst nodding to acknowledge his presence. I wasn’t fond of people staring at me but I guess I could make an exception for the Heelshire since it’s his way of trying to get my attention without any words—even though it was also considered to be a bit rude. I would be loss for the right words as well if I were in his place.

After I ate again in agonizing silence, it was time for Brahms’ turn. I closed my eyes once more but this time, I was determined to stay awake.

As I tried to instigate that talking with your mouth full was against proper meal etiquette, I decided to tell Brahms all about my day.

“I spent the afternoon with Malcolm and…” I trailed off, unsure of what to call the porcelain doll. My silence seems to give away what I was pertaining to so the Heelshire hummed in a lighthearted tone to tell me that he somewhat got and understood my point.

I decided to carry on since Brahms seemed to appreciate that I was interacting with him. As I finished up to the point of receiving letters from Malcolm, the Heelshire hesitantly tapped my shoulder indicating that it was okay for me to open my eyes.

Brahms now stood before me, reaching out for the letters and surveyed them one by one. He seemed to ignore the extravagant ones—probably leaving it for his parents. He then came across the one with their family crest imbued in wax on it and immediately placed it in his maroon cardigan.

He hastily placed his plate on the sink and left the kitchen haphazardly as if it was a matter of life and death.


	17. Blossoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I'd get a thousand hits! I can't thank each and everyone who read my story enough!
> 
> It makes me so happy and motivated. Hope you guys like this cheeky little update!

My time with the actual Brahms grew more frequent as the days went by.

At first, he would only come out to eat his meals—ceremoniously playing vinyl discs containing what I presumed were his favorite records to indicate that he’s coming. Then after some time, he’d come out for his curriculum. The Heelshire would often trail his fingers against the array of books and collection of musical scores to personally choose the story or the piece of music he’d like hear while we sit apart. I couldn’t play much of the piano except some nursery rhymes by ear so those were the only ones I performed for him—usually he’d be pleased by all of my efforts but when he wasn’t, I’d play some more records. Now, he watches me as I do absolutely anything; from doing chores, to taking care of our meals, even when I’m only walking around the manor—well, all the time except when I go to the bathroom.

I also took this opportunity to befriend Brahms, asking how his day was or what he thinks about certain things, like the taste of the food, the weather, what story he’d like to hear, or the song we last listened to. He would sometimes talk, alternating between his impression of a child’s voice or his own; rather meekly and in phrases, still uncomfortable with speaking to others. One thing I admired about him though was despite being extremely timorous, verbally or not he’d still give me a reply—he’s well-mannered enough not to leave the other person hanging.

I’d like to believe that he’s warming up to me albeit little by little.

At the moment, he stood by me as I hung the freshly washed clothes on the nylon cord, silently watching every action I take. It was hard to shrug off his watchful eyes at first but I think I’ve grown used to them by now.

Brahms, like in any other task I’m doing, would initially just come and fervently watch me. Then after awhile he’d grow comfortable enough to scoot closer and help me. The Heelshire would sometimes hold the other end of the blanket or would hand me clothespins every now and then—his eyes would noticeably sparkle every time I praise him.

It was laundry day, marking exactly a few weeks since the intruder came. I know that I should probably forget all about it since there weren’t any uninvited guests coming—as if nothing happened, but it was also the day I found out the truth about Brahms… that he was actually alive.

As we finished the mundane chore, Brahms walked by the porch and stood before the stony flowerbed. He was probably admiring the chrysanthemums. It was almost fall season after all. The man bent down to scrutinize the blossoms further, amazed at the vibrant colors it was emitting. I approached him slowly, about to ask him if he likes flowers; though he caught me by surprise when he started talking.

 “Daddy planted these for Mummy…” he said, bringing a large palm to caress the plant.

“…it made her… very happy…”

I listened to his musings as the cool breeze blew against our forms softly, enjoying the unsuspecting tranquility that surrounded us.

“…do you like flowers, Josephine?” he suddenly asked, genuine curiosity clinging to his words.

Brahms’ question caught me off guard, causing me to drop the empty plastic hamper on the dewy ground. This was the first time he’s reaching out to me—it never crossed my mind about my preference regarding flowers, but hearing it form him made me carefully reconsider my answer.

I did work at a garden… or maybe he was pertaining to whether I liked what his father planted for his mother… Why couldn’t I pay attention clearly without getting distracted?

With a small sigh, I nodded a bit.

“I’m enchanted by them.”

As I answered his question, Brahms abruptly stood up, his green eyes sparkling as he gestured the forest somewhat excitedly. “Then… let’s plant flowers… tomorrow.”

“Alright, we’ll plant flowers during…” I trailed off, trying to adjust the schedule tomorrow internally to find the best time that suits the activity.

“Play time… in the morning.” Brahms chimed in, rather eagerly—having absolutely no difficulty recalling his schedule.

“We can also have a picnic if you’d like… for lunch.” I smiled at him, pleased that our little plan was coming together.

My suggestion resonated with the Heelshire as I heard him chuckle in delight for the first time. He was pleased with our agreement and was just bursting with delectation. I felt my cheeks burn after we shared the little moment—it feels like I’ve slowly became closer to Brahms for sure.

* * *

The sun shone brightly as we walked through the forest; I trailed behind the Heelshire as he led the way to the supposedly empty flowerbed near the riverbank—I was watching his every step intently as the dewy grass slid in between his toes. The sound of birds chirping and water flowing, and the smell emanated from all the greenery was surprisingly therapeutic to the senses, calming my form—delaying my impeding headache.

When I woke up the next day, everything was already prepared. The garden tools were placed in a bucket along with some flower seeds and fertilizer, and the picnic basket was brought out from the small storage in the kitchen. Brahms was really excited about our little adventure for the day.

My thoughts were interrupted when I bumped into the man’s back as he suddenly stopped. He looked over his shoulder to check if I was alright and gestured that we came across a slippery slope—according to him it appears to be very steep.

“Oh, isn’t there any way around?”

Brahms shook his head before looking down to his feet. He clenched his hands as his excitement began to visibly dwindle.

Oh no, I was afraid that this would happen… I have to think fast. It’s still possible to climb down the slope but we’d get splattered with dirt all over. I decided to sling the basket on my arm and held his hand.

We’re not going back to the manor without gardening and having a picnic first.

“Let’s trek the slope down then.” I smiled at him, hinting that I wasn’t afraid of any slope and that I wanted to continue with our journey even if it meant getting moist soil on my clothes.

“…but you’re nice clothes will get dirty.” Brahms said, gloomily pointing at the puddle at the end of the slope.

“A little dirt won’t hurt anyone, Brahms. Besides, there’s a river nearby right? We can wash ourselves there when it’s time for our picnic.”

As soon as I finished talking, Brahms handed me the garden tools and rolled the sleeves of his beige cardigan and his grey dress pants up to his forearms and ankles. Before I could ask what he was doing, he swiftly scooped me up and whispered that I should hold on tight and close my eyes upon impact.

“W-what are y—”

That was all I could utter as we slid down the slope. When I heard the loud splash, Brahms let out a breathy sigh as if he enjoyed the entire ride. I instinctively opened my eyes and looked down, seeing that I barely got stained. I wanted to check how Brahms was holding up but I couldn’t—his mask was on the ground and he still wasn’t ready to show me his face.

I was sitting on his lap and the sight of Brahms’ muddied hand reaching for his ghostly façade made me realize that he did all of this so that I wouldn’t get dirty.

I abruptly stood up, dropping the materials on the ground as I dusted the grime off my pants before offering Brahms a hand.

“Brahms, you shouldn’t have… Look, you’re all dirty.”

It took a while but Brahms took my hand and stood up, examining his own form before looking at me—his eyes seemed like they were smiling. He ignored my words and bent down to pick up the bucket and its tools before walking again. I began to giggle as he looked like a huge goop of mud. Thank goodness that our destination was only a few steps away.

As we arrived at the edge of the river, Brahms immediately jumped into it, presumably to wash himself clean. I was a bit envious since I also wanted to play in the clear water.

I decided to bring out the components of the picnic as I waited for him, checking if everything was still in order. Good thing I decided to make the sandwiches at the manor or else everything would be a paste-y mess.

When Brahms came back, he was completely drenched but free of mud. He stood awry at the riverbank, letting the excess water drip a bit before sitting on the boulder nearby the picnic.

The stone was situated directly behind me so I guess we could eat together—at the same time.

“What do you fancy, Brahms? We have chicken, tuna, and egg salad sandwiches… The fruits are for dessert later.”

“…the one with eggs, please.”

I nodded in acknowledgment as I handed him the sandwich over my shoulder. A shiver ran through my spine as a drop of water dripped from his fingertips and onto my nape—making me jump. The anxious feeling of consciousness suddenly crept through me again, causing me to hug myself as I gulped in embarrassment; the accident making me feel rather sheepish.

As we ate in silence, I glanced at the empty flowerbed. I couldn’t help but notice the fresh soil glistering against the creek’s reflection—as if it was only plotted recently. It’s not like there’s a bald spot on the ground in an instant right?

After we consumed our sandwiches, we immediately tended to the soil. Brahms handed me the watering can as he silently dug little holes in the ground.

This is good. I thought, as the watering can slowly sank in the river. If we spend more time together maybe we'd be friends sooner than I've anticipated.

When I came back from the stream, he was holding the packets of seed before me.

“Lobelia Cardinalis…?” I asked, reading the sachet’s label. He nodded once, explaining they were the ones suitable to grow around early fall and by the waterway.

Brahms ripped the packet without any struggle and placed it on my palm, carefully watching me as I poured its contents in each hole. To be honest, I was afraid of messing up—I had absolutely no idea whether the number of seeds in each of the little pits were acceptable or not, but Brahms covering it with dirt boosted my confidence.

After that, Brahms handed me the watering can so that I can quench the soil’s thirst.

“How long will it take to bloom?” I asked, examining its packet. The picture of the flowers looks so wonderful with its vibrant splash of red and I can’t wait to see the blossoms in person.

“They’re perennial… or short-lived…” Brahms started, pausing to remember some details about the plant before speaking. “…probably a few weeks or so...”

“Then can we have a picnic from time to time to check on them…?”

I was anticipating the Heelshire’s agreement but he shrugged his shoulders a bit.

“…you don’t want to?” I said, rather in a disappointed tone. “It’d be such a waste not to…”

“It’s not that… it’s just that…”

I looked up, curious as to what emotion his eyes were bearing. Were his eyes sparkling of fondness? Sentiment? It was always interesting how much his green orbs could convey.

Though the sight of Brahms’ mask on his palm caused me to stop on my tracks and fixate it on his ghostly disguise instead.

That was close. For a second there, I could’ve ruined everything in an instant. I saw the man’s chest rise up and down as he breathed rather calmly; he probably removed his mask of to take in the fresh air properly.

Brahms uttered something that caught me off guard—momentarily making my heart skip a beat.

“You already remind me of blooming flowers.”


	18. Despondence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading! I hope you guys like this bit!

Johann Strauss’ sumptuous Frühlingsstimmen resonated inside the enclosed space of my private bathroom as I sank into the pool of suds.

Brahms’ last words before we came back to the manor kept popping in my head, distracting my train of thought enough that I clumsily—and shamelessly ran into the entrance door or tripped on my steps multiple times; making a fool out of myself.

I knew that Brahms just blurted out what was on his mind and it was just an innocent remark, but why did it feel so different?

“You already remind me of blooming flowers.”

A sigh escaped my lips as those words made my stomach churn. Now that I think about it, I guess it was the first time I ever got such a compliment from someone who’s not younger than five.

Usually, I would get those ‘I like you teacher!’ or ‘You remind me of my favorite soap, teacher!’ flattery and I admit—it was charming to some degree, but it didn’t stand a chance compared to what Brahms uttered some time ago. His words may be simple but deep down it had more depth and had some sort of underlying…

Affection?

“No… I’m just imagining it.” I mumbled to myself as I began splashing the warm liquid against my skin to cool down my face. I was never really accurate at interpreting cues or anything and I’m absolutely sure I’m misreading something here… I think.

I decided to dismiss the thought since I’m probably just over-thinking things as always. After all, I’ve been soaking myself for about an hour now. Maybe all the moisture’s beginning to fog up my brain and as much as I’d want to stay longer and lock myself up in my bedroom after, I still have to spend the rest of the afternoon with Brahms.

* * *

My mind began to hurt as I was about to leave my chambers. It was one of those days when my headaches would become severe—to the point that it was excruciating. One factor I could come up was my unnecessary dependence of analgesics, immediately seeking its aid the moment I feel an impending migraine would hit, and the other was that my spectacles no longer matching my eyes and that my astigmatism may or may not have gotten worse; if that’s even possible.

I staggered towards my bed, falling back and atop on the mattress as I clenched my head tightly. My sighs were short and shallow, barely resuscitating my form—I brought out the herbal vapor rub from my pocket and placed an ample amount of the ointment just below my nostrils anticipating the menthol scent’s invasion to my senses; it was a desperate attempt to eradicate the searing pain.

As much as I’d want to take aspirin pills, my supply has sadly gone missing; I must’ve misplaced them somewhere in the manor, leaving me with my… safer alternatives.

I closed my eyes as my surroundings began to spin, curling myself into a ball. The deafening high pitch sound rang in my ears for awhile until everything faded out as I began to slip into the abyss and lose consciousness.

As I ventured into the darkness, I felt my body slowly relax—the tension slowly leaving my form. Warmth filled my senses as I continued to delve deeper into sleep.

* * *

The feeling of someone caressing my hair woke me up.

Large, warm hands…

I popped my eyes open—immediately meeting dilated green gem-like orbs directed at me. I took pleasure in looking at those glistering pools of peridot, but it felt like forever since the both of us seemed like we had no plans of breaking away just yet.

This is bad… My face feels hot and my judgment is clouded—it still felt like I was in a dream…

Taking advantage of our trance-like state, my free palm found itself reaching for Brahms’ face, brushing a stray brunette lock out away from his face; the cold pallid surface greeted my touch—the man didn’t blink nor flinch though, still unwilling to disconnect our eyes.

It didn’t take long until the Heelshire’s sighs echoed from his façade—his breathing noticeably heavy. I was taken aback, swallowing a little before I noticed the corner of his eyes were wet and swollen… as if he’s been crying.

Before I could ask him what was wrong, the tiny rotary dial chimed scandalously on my bed stand.

I tore away my gaze from the Heelshire as we both waited for the sharp sound to die out. I’ve had my fair share of advertisement calls interrupting the serenity of the household and it’s better to let the person at the other line dial again than risk wasting a few minutes listening to commercials than doing something productive around the manor.

Even if I did want to answer the telephone, I couldn’t. Brahms brought my form against his as he pulled me in for a hug. Breaking away from his arms would be close to impossible; there’s that and I didn’t want to piss him off.

“Brahms…?”

Something feels off about him somehow.

“Did something happen?” I tried asking, doing my best to pull away from him but Brahms didn’t budge at all.

All I heard was breathing…

More like silent sniffling, to be more accurate. I started to feel something pierce onto my chest, weighing my spirits down as I realized something so heartbreaking.

Brahms was crying.

I never thought that he’d show such vulnerability to me. To be honest, I was surprised—I don’t know how to comfort him in this situation.

“Hey… shh… it’s okay…” I whispered as I attempted to console the man, rubbing my palm against his back. Brahms did so much as to bury my form further, his grasp tightening further—as if I was some stuffed toy.

Then suddenly out of nowhere, my cellular phone started to beep. At first the vibration felt like a wave against the mattress as an array of text messages flood my gadget’s inbox—it looked grave, so I decided to reach for it.

It was Malcolm who was blowing up my phone. Before I could open one my friend’s messages, my ringtone began to play.

What could be so urgent that Malcolm had to contact me so haphazardly?

“Please… don’t…” Brahms suddenly whispered in his child-like voice, desperation evident in his tone. It’s as if he already knew what the brunette at the other line had to say.

“I… have to, Brahms. It seems really important.”

The Heelshire didn’t protest any longer; falling silent, but still remain in place—as if he failed to prevent something so exigent from being found out. He already knew it would be futile to stop me, since as much as I’d like to ignore every message and call coming my way to give him all of my undivided attention, I can’t. I’ll have to respond sooner or later.

As I tapped the green image as opposed to the red one, Malcolm’s fervid breathing filled my ears.

“Hello? Josephine?” the brunette started, waiting for my response.

“W-what’s up Mal? I’m… kind of in a tight spot.” I stuttered, my lips starting to shake—suddenly feeling uneasy as the weight of the situation began to sink in.

“Oh, apologies… but I have dire news.”

“What… is it?” I asked, hesitance clinging to my words.

“Okay, I’ll spare you the details, but… promise you won’t freak out?”

Upon hearing his words, I’m not sure if I’d want to hear what else Malcolm had to say at the moment. Brahms was evidently listening to our conversation as well, his grip growing tighter and tighter as the suspense of Malcolm’s message was overwhelming the both of us.

“Y-yeah…”

“It’s about the Heelshires…”

“Oh, wait… a minute…”

If it’s about them, Brahms had the right to hear Malcolm’s message right? Of course he did. It’s his parents after all—good or bad, the news wouldn’t source anyone harm. Well, that’s what I thought so I decided to allow Brahms to join in as I flicked the loudspeaker on.

“Sorry, so… What about the elderly couple?” I chimed in again. Brahms flinched as I asked, the phone call now grabbing his full attention.

“They’re… dead.”


	19. Tumult (Brahms' POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you for reading my story! I hope everyone likes this little update! I promise to write more next time!

I recently received a letter that had the family crest imbued in wax as its seal.

The memory of mummy and daddy popped in my head as they told me that if an epistle was adorned with such a thing while I was alone with my nanny; the letter was undoubtedly addressed to me.

The thought of getting a letter was such a delight for me of course.

I was even ecstatic that they remembered to write to me whilst their holiday—it reassured me that their somewhat diminishing affection towards me somehow faded; I somehow still remained in their hearts no matter how far we are apart.

Happiness filled my form that when I hastily opened the flaps of the envelope, naïve of the fact that their final farewells were enclosed inside the envelope, I practically almost destroyed the wrapper. My hands fumbled as I opened the folded parchment, the greeting lifting my spirits.

> _Our Dearest Son,_

Those words were enough to make me smile. They still place value my existence very dearly after all; the thought making me feel warm inside. The anticipation was too much to bear as I grew excited—impatient as to what the rest of their letter contained, so with eyes that stuck like glue on the paper, I read eagerly.

> _Words cannot describe our heartbreak as we leave you now._

My mouth fell agape as the excitement and life left my face. What do they mean they’re leaving me now? There has to be a logical explanation for all of this.

I decided to dig my nose deeper onto the vellum.

> _We will not be back. We simply cannot bear to live with what we have allowed you to become._

By the time I finished reading the sentence, I felt like my soul left my chassis.

I cannot believe my eyes. Why on earth would mummy and daddy say these things? Have I not been a good boy for as much as I could? Has been there a loss in translation in our relationship? Was this their sentiments the entirety of our time as a family? Was I not good enough? Why would my parents have the heart to be so cruel?

What they allowed me to become? What am I really?

Tears threatened to trickle down my façade as the brewing sense of indignation made me sick to my stomach. The dark voice inside my conscience managed to concoct an answer to all my queries.

…I was a monster undeserving of love.

Mummy and daddy left me because I caused them vexation. I was a fool to actually think they still loved me. Nothing I did was ever enough to mend our broken relationship; everything led to the imminent act of despondence.

They’ve abandoned me and now I’m left all alone.

Undoubtedly the message and my menacing thoughts made me upset. How could such a tribulation befall on me? What have I done to deserve such tragedies? What am I to do from now on?

* * *

“They’re… dead…”

As soon as I heard those words come from the grocery man behind the electronic device, everything suddenly became a blur. I already knew that they were never to return, but hearing another person confirm it crushes my spirit.

The strength from my body seemingly left my form as I was now only sitting on the mattress, limply facing Josephine. All I could remember was the girl inaudibly talking against the gadget as her chocolate tinted eyes were wide from shock—tearful even.

She glanced at me from time to time, caressing my shoulder as she said goodbye to her friend, attempting to comfort me.

“…Brahms?”

As soon Josephine’s lips uttered my name, I snapped.

I’ve allowed the madness nestled deep within me to break loose. Adrenaline pumped in my veins, gracing me with unthinkable inhumane strength as I wrecked havoc all over the room. Josephine cried out my name numerous times as she attempted to grasp the back of my cardigan, trying to calm me down. It was futile though, even I couldn’t control myself.

I couldn’t accept the fact that my parents did so much as to kill themselves to escape me—I, who relied on them so much and hoped that I could fix what I have done.

Why would mummy and daddy do this to me?

Darkness clouded my mind as my sight was blinded; only the sound of furniture being tossed around and colliding against the floor filled my ears.

Tears were tugging at the corner of my eyes as perspiration glistened against my face after I finished my rampage—I was standing in the middle of the mess, drowning in frustration. Josephine’s chambers were in shambles as all of the furniture were either turned over or have already shattered from the force of my tantrum. I scanned my surroundings, eyeing a few holes on the wall, shards of glass that fell off from what remained the broken mirror, and the faint smell of copper filled my nostrils as my knuckles felt very sore.

I breathed in and out heavily, before realizing the absence of my porcelain disguise. I must’ve broken it whilst the blinded tumult.

Now that I’ve managed to release all of my pent up rage, I felt… very tired—very empty as my body was drained of its strength, causing me to slide down to the floor. I was surprised when a pair of trembling arms wrapped around my waist, suddenly tightened its grip—reminding me that I wasn’t alone.

It was Josephine, whimpering against my back.

“I… I’m sorry,” she piped in a small voice.

I froze. Sadness ultimately washing over me.

“I’m sorry about your parents, Brahms…” she whispered, now wrapping her tiny palms around my forearms as if to comfort me, her palms resting just over my frantic heart hammering against my chest.

“I don’t know what to tell you to make the pain any better…”

Silence filled the air as I listened to her words. I don’t think anything can remove the imaginary stake that’s pierced through my hammering heart right now, but at that moment, Josephine’s voice was the only thing that seemed so soothing to my ears.

“…but I’m here… if you need anything…”

I closed my eyes as my calloused hands cupped over the girl’s velvety ones.

Josephine became quiet.

At first, when everything came all at once, overwhelming me with surprise, the weight of the world seemed to crush me… almost suffocating my form. I felt so livid at life—rage spreading through my form like wildfire.

But now, as I was practically wailing as tears streamed down my face, I instantly remembered Mummy’s letter. She wrote other things on the parchment as well; it didn’t only contain a farewell, but a gentle reminder as well.

> _The girl is yours now. She is yours to love and care for._
> 
> _May God forgive us all._
> 
> _Love always,_
> 
> _Mummy and Daddy XXX_

Mummy reminded me that I wasn’t alone…

I may have lost the two sole people who I’ve loved all my life, but I feel like I’ve been liberated from captivity; like a bird flying through the horizon. That and I still have my nanny with me.

Josephine’s here and as long as she remains by my side, it was enough to reassure me that I’ll be alright.


	20. Anew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! It's been awhile. Life has been hectic but I'm back! :)
> 
> Thank you for all the hits, kudos, and comments! I'm very grateful that you appreciate my story! :D
> 
> I hope you like this little update! Will post the next few chapters by the end of the week!

Tears stung my eyes as I cried with Brahms, feeling distressed if not as devastated as the man by the news.

The HeeIshires, Arthur and Margaret were gone—how, I wouldn’t dare entertain the thought; even though Malcolm purportedly hinted that it was self-inflicted, I don’t think the elderly couple had the heart to leave their child.

Well, ruminating over these things was pointless especially for an outsider like me. I can’t imagine how Brahms must feel. They’re never coming back and it must have left him feeling confused and just utterly lost.

Speaking of the man, his back was facing me as I watched him clumsily wiping the tears off his face whilst hearing some occasional sniffling.

I was shocked—he must’ve reached his limit to show such vulnerability to me.

Who wouldn’t though? I was such an idiot thinking that he needed to hear about the death of his parents.

The feeling of somewhat I could probably only relate to a nanny's instinct kicked in my senses as I decided to grab the nearest article of clothing I could see that was scattered on the floor. I then scooted near him, facing his lowered form before trying to wipe the tears on his cheeks with a crumpled up cotton shirt as a handkerchief.

My attempt was futile though as Brahms immediately grabbed my wrist with his palm rather with a squeeze as he brought up his forearm to shield his face from plain view. A perplexed sigh escaped my lips as I noticed that his jaw was still practically shaking—probably stifling a whimper; his visible emerald eye was wet, reddened and pricked with tears. I carefully placed my palm on his forearm with my free hand, trying to tell him that I meant well. I know that Brahms still doesn’t trust me enough to show his face, but I wanted to at least show that I’m here to help him.

There was a long pause, the sound of my breathing and the man’s silent sniffles filled the air—but after a while, he ultimately let his defenses down.

I waited patiently as the Heelshire meekly placed his palms on his thighs, before leaning closer to me with his head lowered once more. A smile crept on my face as Brahms allowed me to go on with my task. It was difficult to clean his face though, since his gaze was apparently fixated on his pale hands as each tightly gripped his knees—whilst tears were cascading from his eyes and onto the fabric of his pants. I took a deep breath before cupping his chin to try to lift it up even a little.

Brahms’ breathing stopped, reluctant at my gesture.

“Brahms, please?”

“…no…” the man whispered shyly, his shaking voice threatening to crack. “…you can’t, I’m…”

“…you’re?” I asked raising a skeptical brow at him before a sigh escaped my lips. I guess I was used to cleaning up the faces of children before so I wanted to do it properly. I pondered for a while, trying to think of a way to convince him when an idea suddenly popped in my head.

“If it makes you feel any better…”

I swiftly removed my spectacles, folding and placing them neatly on the floor beside me. If he doesn’t want me to get a clear look at his face, this will make things even.

“There. Now we’re both… bare-faced.”

The man suddenly fell silent, finding no words to rebuke me—admitting defeat as he took a mindful and deep breath as lifted his face with his eyes closed shut. I bit my lip in anticipation. I was genuinely curious as to what hid behind his mask and I never thought I’d live the day to actually gaze upon it.

What greeted me was a beautiful face, a wonderful façade portraying the lovely outcome of the Heelshires’ mixture of genes. My eyes widened at the sight, almost gawking at Brahms’ face as I admired his prominent features—as if I haven’t really considered how handsome the son of the gorgeous couple was. His dark brunette locks cascaded down on his face, framing his chiseled almost razor sharp jaw and high cheekbones; his pointed nose and pink lips were then red, probably from all the crying. The stubble that was growing around his face made him seem manlier that I imagined and those eyes… oh how I loved his pools of peridot, but I also liked how his thick arched brows and tear-stained long lashes morphed everything together into this wonderful sight.

Heat began to rise on my cheeks, evidently attracted at Brahms’ face.

‘Now’s not the time!’ I scolded myself.

It took me awhile before noticing the faint flaw amidst the gorgeous image as I dabbed the piece of cloth on his cheeks. I brushed the stray locks of hair from his face and saw that he was badly hurt and had burnt marks all over the right side of his face.

Was this the reason why Brahms hid behind the creepy mask?

As soon as Brahms felt the fabric leave the surface of his face, he opened his eyes slowly, establishing eye contact with me.

I felt myself blush, embarrassment suddenly washing all over me; I was surprised since this was the first time we locked our eyes onto each other without the mask as the barrier. My throat felt hot and my lips felt dry, prompting me to lick its surface before swallowing as discreetly as I could—failing shamelessly as Brahms glanced at my lips after I finished the act, mirroring the action before trying to look away.

Given by his silence, the man was obviously waiting for my reaction towards his real appearance, but I have no words to tell him.

I didn’t really find his façade hideous at all. Not one bit.

He was just hurt, probably from an accident. Why would it be a hurdle to get to know what’s more than what his physique suggests? Of course I grew curious as to what was the story behind his scars, but I don’t think the Heelshire would appreciate my threatening inquisitiveness.

“…did it hurt?”

That was the only thing I dared to ask—and it was an idiotic question at that. I wanted to test the waters, but unfortunately I wasn’t processing everything that well at the moment and impulsively opened my mouth. In fact, I wanted slap myself; I knew that it was only something to break the tension, but why on earth did I ask something so blatantly obvious?

Brahms eyes widened in surprise, evidently perplexed at my question—from what I could tell by the look on his face, he was probably attempting to replay my words in his head  to see if he heard or understood me clearly. Then his next step was to see if I was joking or not.

I guess the worried and somewhat pained look on my face convinced him that I wasn’t.

Brahms cleared his throat before looking down, as if he was ashamed.

“…yes… but it was my fault.”

By now, I was fighting the urge to cut him off—if ever he wasn’t finished talking. I wanted to ask how in any way was the accident his fault.

Wait, was it even an accident?

“…did somebody do that to you?”

As soon as those words left my lips, Brahms’ palms tightened against each of his kneecaps before facing me again. The look he gave me was enough to make me falter.

He wasn’t ready yet.

“…it doesn’t matter.” Brahms simply said through gritted teeth, before resuming his little stare-down with his knuckles.

I gave the man an appreciative hum whilst nodding my head, agreeing that there wasn’t a need to bring up such memories from the past.

A thought was at the back of my mind though, and it was making me rather anxious. I know that the wounds are still fresh and Brahms’ suffering was absolutely painful at the moment, but I couldn’t help feeling a bit lost myself.

What are we going to do now?

Technically, I’m off the case—I’m not working for the Heelshires anymore. I could go on and do the next thing my life has in store for me. Knowing the pattern of my idiosyncrasies, I should be delighted that I was done with the job before I got bored of it—but there was something about the man and our time together these past few days that made me consider some stuff over.

I already knew that Brahms never really left the manor, and that he was likely devoid from all human contact during his entire stay—only his little interactions with the elderly couple was his basis of socialization. The man may have his peculiarities but he was undoubtedly pure and almost child-like.

Apart from that, from what I gathered, he was supposed to be dead; a long forgotten ghost.

Forgotten…

He must be already lonely as it is.

The further silence seemed to have made Brahms a bit agitated as I felt his eyes on me through his disheveled curly locks. Green orbs burned on my form urging me to return the gaze whilst contemplating as to what my plan would be from now on.

I can’t leave him.

No, it’s not just a matter of can’t, but won’t. He needs a friend now more than ever and I can't bear the thought of his incapability to cope with the sudden abandonment. Brahms may be cautious and adept, but seeing him broke down a while ago with such raw emotion—he can't do it alone yet.

I'll be by his side until he could.

After much reflection, I placed a palm on one of Brahms’ tensed and pale hands. The gesture seemed to have confused him before I gave him a reassuring smile.

“Let’s start over.”


	21. Fixation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hope you guys like this little update! :) Thank you again for the hits, the kudos, and the comments! Much love to every single one of you!

It’s been a few days since Brahms and I found out about the dreadful news.

Everything went on as usual, nothing completely odd happening over the course of attempting to help the Heelshire cope with his loss—except for the man’s recent bouts of neediness that occurred more frequently as the days pass by.

As much as how considerate Brahms was, leaving me alone when I had to so some chores, his little episodes didn’t care much for the current situation we would be in. Sometimes he would come up behind me, seemingly out of nowhere, towering for a brief moment before suddenly tugging at the hem of my sleeve, waiting for my response—when I did acknowledge his presence, he would just stay close. Most of the time he’d just watch intently at what I was supposed to do; sometimes I’d catch his eyes staring at my profile, like he was memorizing every feature I had. Then there were times that he craved another person’s touch. He’d do subtle little things to satisfy his needs such as playing with my hair or intertwining his hand with my free hand altogether.

This afternoon was one of those instances.

It was only 4 o’clock in the afternoon and the horizon was already splashed with a vibrant hue of red and orange as the sun was about to take its leave. I was minding my own business, listening to a happy musical piece from a movie I was fond of while making some sweetened bananas—so that Brahms had something to munch on rather of biscuits if ever he gets hungry at any given time.

As I finished washing up the utensils I used, Brahms was standing by the counter, eyeing the peeled bananas sitting idly in the honey syrup.

“Hi Brahms,” I said, greeting the man before giving him a small smile. The man didn’t even bat an eye at me, evidently eager to know what was in the large bowl. As I made my way towards him, I decided to grab a small plate and fork.

“I made some sweetened bananas,”

The man gave me an appreciative hum, nodding a little before glancing at my direction. I stood beside him, getting a few sliced bananas and placed them on the small plate. Brahms watched my every move, his mouth practically watering.

“They’ve been sitting there for a while… I think it’s okay to eat them now.” I chimed, offering the plate to him which he happily took.

The first thing Brahms did was to inhale the sugary scent of the glazed fruit, as if he was confirming whether the smell that caught his attention from the hall came from the snack or not—and when it did, I saw the corner of his mouth turn upwards indulgently, which was a good thing. He then dipped his index finger at the tiny pool of syrup before placing it in his mouth, savoring every bit of the tacky liquid before quietly humming in delight.

Brahms then took the fork sitting on the side of the small plate and took a bite of the banana before closing his eyes in pleasure as he chewed in enjoyment. I couldn’t help but smile at the scene I was witnessing. It was a breath of fresh air to see Brahms in such a relaxed state since the elderly couple’s untimely demise.

I was brought back to my senses when Brahms brought half of the banana to my face.

“It’s alright Brahms, I don’t really like sweets. I made these for you.”

Brahms didn’t bat an eye as he offered the snack again—insisting that we’d share the plate. If this was the bout of neediness that he wanted for the day, then I’d oblige. The man held the plate as I took the banana and masticated it slowly, smiling at Brahms with a full mouth.

Brahms roamed around the kitchen before making his way to the cupboards. He took out two glasses, wiping them dry before taking a pitcher from the refrigerator and filled it with water.

“Thank you, Josephine. They’re delicious.”

“Sure thing, Brahms,” I said as I took the glass and gulped down the cool liquid, washing away the tacky feeling from my throat. As I finished drinking the glass, Brahms suddenly cupped my face; I froze in place dumbfounded.

Unbeknown to me, some syrup escaped the corners of my mouth, probably from when I ate the banana—the man instinctively wiped it with his thumb before licking it off from his finger.

I felt my cheeks heat up, embarrassed that Brahms had to see that.

“Thank you…” I murmured, biting my lips cheekily before looking away. Brahms took notice at my actions right away and cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“It’s nothing, Brahms.”

I should remember that he’s still like a child and that he did it with good intentions.

My train of thought was interrupted when Brahms took my hand and slowly led me to the foyer, making his way towards the small table by the entrance of the parlor before stopping on his tracks. He spoke no words but his eyes were fixated on the few pieces of literature sitting on top of the wooden furniture. I found them in my luggage and left them there because I was planning on sharing it with Brahms—surely he could use something new to read.

“Oh, these…?”

Brahms nodded firmly.

“They’re some of my favorite poems. I thought we’d read it together.”

I saw a faint spark of light in his beautiful green eyes.

“I’d like that… very much,” the man said, picking up the tiny booklet to examine it further. I smiled at the man as he undoubtedly liked what I had planned for later.

Unable to wait any further, Brahms asked what was inside.

“Uhm… that’s filled with poems… like… Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann… and Love After Love, by Derek Walcott.” 

The man’s curiosity was piqued enough to make him the flip the booklet open, reading a few lines as I chirped away. Brahms really liked literature so much the whole idea of having new things to read seemed to have cheered him up. I’m glad that I was able to find these amid my messy luggage.

“I… also have some books here too… like… The Giving Tree… and The Little Prince. Are you familiar with any of them?”

The Heelshire hummed, his eyes still glued on the booklet. I tried to catch a glimpse of which poem he was reading with such intent.

“Love by Pablo Neruda…” I murmured to myself, watching silently as Brahms read the poem.

“I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten your eyes…” Brahms whispered, tracing the words I etched with my own handwriting with his fingertips.

“I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window…” Brahms trailed off as a tear fell on the parchment. He didn’t continue any further.

“Brahms?”

In an abrupt motion, the man dropped the notebook and held my shoulders firmly; his expression was heartbroken and confused—deafening silence prancing in the air.

“I… I’m sorry…” I said, staring right into his eyes. They were glazed and empty but had a hint of longing. I didn’t know what to say.

“Josephine…” the man called my name quietly albeit slowly. I didn’t say anything, due to my surprise at the sudden gesture. Brahms took it as an opportunity to talk once more.

“It’s horrible…”

“W-what do you mean?” I asked, unsure of what he was talking about.

“I… I feel like I’m forgetting… about mummy and daddy…”

I waited for Brahms to continue.

“It’s only been days… yet I can’t help but be happy that you’re with me. I know it’s bad… and I shouldn’t be this complacent with the way things are.”

A sigh escaped my lips as I decided to place my hands on his forearms.

“Well… I don’t really know but… maybe deep down… you already know they’re at peace…”

I felt the man’s hands twitch under his touch, threatening to grip my shoulders tighter.

“That’s why… unconsciously you thought it’d be okay to relax once in a while.”

As soon as Brahms heard those words, his eyes came to life but were now dark and menacing—it reminded me of his skeptical eyes the first time we met face to face; and just like back then, this was one of those times when I shouldn’t falter on my words… or else he’d take it the wrong way.

“They’ll always remain in your heart and that will never change… but it’s not healthy to dwell on their deaths forever.”

The man seemed to have taken my words into consideration since he looked away and loosened his grip; breaking me free. He lowered his head as he contemplated about what I said.

I felt compelled to approach the Heelshire to comfort—to reassure him. My footsteps were slow and hesitant, trying to see if it was okay to invade his personal bubble. When Brahms only watched my every move, I took it as a sign of approval. Suddenly my arms found themselves wrapping around his torso.

Brahms stood still, motionless; shocked from the untimely embrace.

“You’re just trying to move forward and it’s alright. It doesn’t make you a horrible person.”

It took awhile but the man returned my hug rather eagerly, almost crushing my form—only releasing my body from his captivity after realizing that my breathing was becoming shallow.

I smiled at the man, whispering a little apology. Brahms bent down and picked up the small booklet and before I could say anything, the sound of the engine revving outside the manor grabbed our attention; reminding us that Malcolm had called earlier to have the groceries delivered earlier than usual to check on me.

“I should go.” Brahms said as he hastily went upstairs disappearing from my sight.


	22. Dispute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this one's a little short but the next part will be longer since the duo will talk about a certain book that I really love!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

It took awhile for both Malcolm and I to finish running over the list of groceries, but we were able to finish before sun down. My friend decided to stay for dinner so he went out to clean the traps while I prepared our food for the evening.

As I stood in the middle of the kitchen, slicing the freshly washed broccoli on the counter, I heard faint footsteps creak against the ceiling. Brahms was probably walking around to quench his boredom or to express his protest against having a guest for dinner.

I already knew Brahms would be against the whole idea but Malcolm said that he wanted to talk to me about my plans after all of this. I reluctantly agreed, deciding to entertain my friend since he was notorious for not taking no for an answer—especially if the matter was really urgent.

It didn’t take long for the viand to cook and it was already good to eat. I was secretly thankful that the traps were located all over the manor and it would really take awhile before anyone could finish and return afterwards since it gave me the opportunity to meet with Brahms.

I took a plate of the cheesy broccoli and baked potatoes and made my way upstairs. I was determined to still give the Heelshire a freshly cooked meal even if we weren’t going to eat together for the night.

As soon as I reached the end of the stairs, I saw the man standing before the large family portrait. Brahms stood still, staring blankly at the vibrant painting—his eyes fixated on the faces of his late parents.

I decided to knock on the wooden railing to make my presence known.

“Excuse me, Brahms?”

The Heelshire slowly turned around to acknowledge me. Having no words to say, I gave him a small smile instead before offering the plate of food. He quickly glanced behind me, indicating the unspoken question of my friend’s whereabouts.

“Malcolm’s out… and I thought maybe you’d want your dinner fresh from the casserole.”

I earned a little crooked smile and a glint of life from Brahms’ eyes in return, silently stating that he appreciated my gesture. He then stared at the plate sitting on my hands, tilting his head at the food—as if he never had such a dish served to him in his entire lifetime—before taking the plate and placing the fork inside the loose pocket of his olive green cardigan.

Before we could talk about anything else, a commotion at the kitchen could be heard, indicating that Malcolm was back and our time was up.

“Its broccoli baked with cheese, some stir-fry chicken and wedges. I hope you like it.” I whispered as I was about to go down the flight of stairs.

“Anything you make is delicious. Thank you.” Brahms said, before sauntering towards the hallway taking his leave, his eyes glued on the plate of food.

The compliment made me stop mid-step, a happy grin plastered on my face while my cheeks evidently felt very warm.

I’ve been bearing with my culinary skills since I became independent and living on my own… maybe I’ve improved? Who knew someone genuinely liked my cooking?

* * *

I was practically playing with my food as Malcolm chatted away. At first he talked about his life with Greta—painting a very vivid image of their usual saccharine adventures as his voice practically dripped honey. It was all lighthearted fun until he opened up about trying to get in touch with the Heelshires’ known relatives and associates… or anyone who would be interested in their property.

“When you clean their bedrooms… see if you can find their final statements.”

I nodded absentmindedly, the graveness of the situation not really sinking into my senses. My friend paid no attention and alternated between taking bites of his meal and busily talking away.

“I think it’s only fair that we leave the decision up to their family or friends if ever they weren’t able to make a will. I mean, it’s not like they decided to leave everything in your care. Of course you can’t do that. You have a life…”

I took a sip of water before expressing my thoughts on the matter.

“What if I’m willing to stay? I mean, I like it here. It’s quiet and pea—”

The brunette interrupted me as he let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples; trying to fend off an impending headache due to my stubbornness. He wasn’t in the mood for it.

“This is different, Phine. Please don’t do this right now.”

“Mal, I am not going to leave the manor… At least not until everything’s settled.”

“What’s there to settle?” Malcolm asked, raising his voice a little as he lost his patience. “The old couple’s gone! They’re never coming back and I’d hate to see you stuck here, watching over the manor and most likely rot here like they did!”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“Mal, stop it… you need to calm down… you need to watch your words.”

I can’t believe that these are his current sentiments… I can’t defend my stance at the moment as well since I can’t really blurt out that I’m trying to take care of the real Brahms. I know that Malcolm’s stressed about the entire thing since he’s the closest thing the elderly couple had to a good family friend but I don’t think their son would like it if my friend started to say such hurtful words towards the old couple in spite of the whole situation.

“I-I was patient with them, Phine… but I’d hate to see you walk down the path they’ve taken.”

“What are you implying?” I said, my own mood turning threatening to go sour—but I fought the urge to give in and tried to remain calm.

Yet the brunette wasn’t done yet.

“I get that you sincerely sympathize with the couple, but the Heelshires are finally a family… they’re now with their dead son and let’s just leave it that way. You’ve been good to them already. It’s time to for you to go. I hope you can find it in your heart to realize that you don’t need to waste your time on all of this anymore.”

As soon as Malcolm uttered those words, a faint sound of a crash echoed from upstairs and to the foyer, as if something fell… or was being tossed around. We both looked up to the ceiling anticipating more chaos to happen but we were only met with deafening silence; my heart stopped as I knew who the culprit was, but luckily my friend shrugged it off.

I could only hope that Malcolm would stop.

“Mal, where is all of this coming from?” I asked, deciding to pry on what he was alluding at.

“I… I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to throw your life away for them. If I could persuade you to pack up and leave tonight, I would.”

Malcolm’s expression was heartbroken, as if he had lost all hope. It reminded me of the devastated look Brahms had a few days back—cementing my conviction that I can’t leave the man, not now when he’s starting to loosen up from the entire nightmare.

“…but it’s my choice, Mal. I hope you can respect that.” I said, giving my friend a wry smile as I ended the conversation. The brunette was at loss for words, only the weary look on his face was evident. He knew I was stubborn and it was futile to convince me otherwise. I get that he’s concerned for my well-being, but I wish he’d just put more faith in me.

“Just trust me… okay, Mal? It’s not like I’m going to die.”

“…right.”

* * *

The sound of Malcolm’s station wagon faded through the forest as he left defeated; he couldn't change my mind no matter how hard he tried after all. As I was left to bask in solitude, I decided it was time to spend some time with Brahms—but I have to clean up everything first. I made my way back to the kitchen, grabbing the apron before I noticed that Brahms had sneaked away his empty plate and placed it in the sink along with the other dirty dishes.

I washed up in a flash, eager to end the daily routine before picking up the broom and dust pan thereafter as I made my way upstairs; awaiting the little mess the Heelshire made due to losing his composure from the little dispute earlier.


	23. Amorous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here's the other part! The details incorporated in this part may be a bit fuzzy since it's been a few years since I read The Little Prince... but I hope you guys like it nonetheless! :) 
> 
> Also, if you haven't read the book, please do give it a read! Its a very wonderful piece!

When I climbed upstairs, the table at the hallway was flipped on the floor, parts of the tiny rotary dial was sprawled on the ground, and shards of a shattered light bulb was lying on the carpet—without the actual presence of the lamp. I noticed that the small fragments led to the study room, so I made my way to the enclosed space carefully. I swept the broken glass to the side, placing the accumulated pieces in the dust pan before walking as slowly as I could—in case I missed some while cleaning to avoid any unwanted accidents.

The door was open, but I decided to knock at the doorframe nonetheless. Brahms was sitting on the piano bench, leisurely reading Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s ‘The Little Prince.’ The broken lamp was lying limply at the foot of his form, and a tiny pool of blood seeped onto the carpet. He looked up, narrowing his lips into a broad smile before placing his attention back at the tiny book in his palms.

I immediately went back to the hallway, grabbing the broom and dust pan to clean up the mess. After doing so, I went to the bathroom to get a basin and filled it with water, a dry towel, a bottle of disinfectant, and some bandages.

When the carpet was free from rubble, I knelt down, folding his sweatpants upward before placing it in the cool water.

“We need to the wash your wounds, Brahms… or else it could get infected.”

Brahms’ nose was stuck on the book, absentmindedly letting me do whatever I want with his feet. I only had his attention momentarily when I placed the rubbing alcohol on the tiny cut—feeling his foot twitch in stinging pain even though his form was calm and collected.

After aiding his wound, I packed away everything; throwing the destroyed remains of the lamp in the nearby trash bin before rolling the little circular carpet upwards and allowing it to lean on the wall for me to wash first thing in the morning.

As I came back, the Heelshire remained in his place, his eyes still glued on the story.

A smile crept on my face as I watched the man. Seeing him so relaxed and invested at doing what he loved the most, I decided to leave him alone and made my way to the bookshelf—looking for a book to peruse myself. I like moments like this where we just sat in comfortable silence, indirectly enjoying each other’s company.

Though when I was about to pass the Heelshire, he instantaneously took my hand before moving a bit to the side of the small space, making room at the piano bench before gesturing me to sit. Usually Brahms would do this when he had a question or he wanted to talk about a part of the literature that he read.

“Do you like the story?” I started, glancing at the open book on his lap. Brahms was already at the part where the prince was crying after he met his furry friend, the fox.

The man nodded, a tiny grin formed on his lips before talking.

“At first, I thought I was the prince… since he was a boy.”

I couldn’t interrupt him. Brahms had a spark in his eye that was so entrancing—I wanted him speak his thoughts more.

“…but after a few pages, I think… you’re the prince.”

A little chuckle escaped my lips.

“What do you mean by that?” I said through a wide smile, leaning towards the man a little to show I was interested in what he had to say. I’ve always thought the prince was someone else; a person who would help me to see and understand the world in another light. I never thought he’d be me through someone else’s eyes.

“Before, you were taking care of me… like the prince did so with the rose.”

“So does that mean you’re the flower, Brahms?”

He nodded once, looking away before sheepishly adding. “I’m a petulant fool after all.”

I hummed as I closed my eyes, recalling his little outburst when I had a debate with Malcolm. My form leaned gently against the closed piano as I continued to hear him out. The man watched my actions carefully, scrutinizing my body language before continuing on with his musings.

“…and then I realized, after reading the words of the fox, I now know the reason why I’m comfortable showing my true self to you—that I never bothered fixing up my disguise anymore.”

For a while, silence lingered in the air. I opened my eyes to see what was happening. Brahms was staring off to space… I couldn’t see what kind of face he was making.

“—You see things with your heart, not with your eyes.”

What he said had me thinking. I never thought of it that way. I do believe that there’s more that meets the eye—the physical aspect of things and that people are inherently good by nature, but I absolutely had no idea that Brahms saw me that way.

The man then turned his direction towards me before lifting his injured foot to hint at what he was talking about.

“You took care of me… you wasted your precious time on me. I’m truly grateful.”

“Well, thank you Brahms… but you’re wrong.”

Brahms’ expression faded, anticipating the reason why. Never did I, during our time together, saw the Heelshire as a waste of time. Why in the world would he think that he was insignificant? I sincerely saw Brahms as a valuable friend and I felt something brewing up when I heard him speak those words.

“I didn’t waste my time on you. I spent it with you. You’re important to me.”

“You… tamed me. Like the prince did with the fox.”

As soon as Brahms said those words, my indignation disappeared. I was amused at how the man accurately connected the two of us with the characters of the story. The prince did tame the fox, but the mammal also wanted a friend deep down. That’s why he allowed the boy to invade his life—and along the way, the both of them were able to realize a lot of things during their time together.

We may have come a long way since our first encounter, but I was also thankful that Brahms saved me from the thief not so long ago. If anything, we benefited from this relationship and we were helping each other grow.

This talk was provoking all sorts of passionate emotions from my form—and I felt each one so ardently.

“I guess you could put it that way.” I uttered, almost in a whisper, staring at the man’s profile as if I was burning a hole through his head. I examined every detail of his disheveled form. Back then, he was cautious, quiet, and his posture was tense… stiff even. It makes me happy that he’s now more relaxed, leaning on the piano beside me, letting his defenses down, and is now able to unwind and share his thoughts freely.

Brahms was practically staring off to space as he allowed the silence to linger for awhile once more, contemplating about the things we talked about. He closed the book and placed it at the nearby table, sighing a bit before bending his form a bit before looking at me with an expression I’ve never seen him make before.

“…do you love me?"

Time stopped when he asked me that question.

From the days we spent our time together, I know that this was just one of Brahms’ usual innocent questions, where he sought affection and validation. I was definitely sure that it was only a simple and platonic query—but the way he asked it this time around shifted the air around us.

It felt very much different from his wonted, out of the blue inquiries.

My heartbeat was ringing in my ears as my thoughts became clouded. At this very moment, Brahms actually seemed like a grown, mature man seeking endearment… rather than the child he thinks he is looking for tenderness. I felt myself melting in my place as his warm gaze locked with mine.

Of course Brahms meant something to me, but I never really thought about those sorts of feelings. I was never intimate with anyone before and I don’t think I ever will… well not at the moment at least. I’m content with the way my life is right now; living in solace while helping a friend in need…

Was that really the entire truth?

Maybe I’m attached to him more than I thought than he is with me.

Yet I have to answer the man’s question—for all I know I might be the only one misinterpreting the whole situation. It’s no secret that I tend to over-think sometimes.

My palm found itself on Brahms’ hand, gently squeezing it as my thumb lightly caressed its back. My answer may not be what he wanted to hear, but it was what I honestly felt.

“I do… very dearly. That’s why I’m here.” I replied with a smile, my throat threatening to dry as I noticed that Brahms’ was listening so intently at me and I had his full attention. I was able to shrug it off though, mustering up enough courage to reassure him once more.

“I will always be your friend.”

As I uttered those words, Brahms’ palms suddenly cupped my face, making me flinch before his pools of peridot stared intensely at my own chocolate swirls. I couldn’t read him—I had no idea what’s going on in his mind at the moment. That may be the case, but neither of us attempted to break the silence as we fell in deep into each other’s gaze.

“Won’t you establish a different tie with me?”

Even though Brahms gave me a chance to prattle, I hesitated. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure whether he was asking me a question or if he was quoting a line from the book. He observed that I was already lost in smoke and mirrors so he decided to explain further.

“Before I met you, I thought you were just like any of the thousand nannies in the world… just a little different… I thought you’d leave me as soon as you heard mummy and daddy were gone.”

My lips were quivering as he spoke tenderly. It was as if I was a sponge literally absorbing every emotion that weighed on his every breath. I felt every bit of sadness and longing that clung onto his words—I felt doleful.

“I knew that when you said we’d start anew… That was when we really became friends.”

“Y-yeah…” I trailed off, distracted by the rampant beating of my heart.

I narrowed my lips inward in an attempt to halt the shaking… but Brahms slowly drew his face nearer, about to close the space between us making things worse. I wasn’t able to contain myself as my mind gave me silly ideas—immediately causing my eyes to close themselves shut, grasping both his forearms before trying to move my face away.

It took a few seconds before I felt… coarse skin against my lips. I then realized Brahms pressed the burnt and damaged part of his face onto me.

I felt appalled. The Heelshire may be knowledgeable but he was absolutely naïve—he’s blissfully unaware of the dangers his actions can cause to my heart. His innocence was too painful to bear. It was too much that I literally felt my heart sink and my soul leave my body. I’m a terrible person to assume that he was actually going to intimately kiss me.

Brahms then exhaled a sigh before pulling away, gently placing his forehead against mine; and with eyes closed, he tenderly whispered…

“I love you, Josephine. Thank you for looking at me with your heart.”


	24. Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! It's been awhile! I know I've been away but now I'm back! I apologize for the abrupt absence. I had stumbled upon some family issues but now everything's going smoothly.
> 
> I'm sorry that I also wasn't able to create a holiday special for this story on time, but I will still upload it even if it's already past the special occasion. I hope everyone will like this piece, the latter part will be uploaded right after since it's in Brahms' POV. (I always look forward to his parts the most. Haha!)
> 
> I hope everyone's well. Thank you for all the patience, hits, kudos, and comments!

When I opened my eyes after I felt Brahms pull away, he was facing down, embarrassed at what he have just done. I didn’t know how to break the quietude so I patiently watched him as his silent breathing filled the air. I clasped my hands, squeezing them tightly together to hold myself back from touching the man.

Before anything else ensued, Brahms shifted from his seat into a more tensed position. The heavy ambiance along with his movements made it feel like he was distancing himself again—right after he poured out his emotions to me. I could feel the imaginary walls he’s building around himself once more.

No, no, no. This isn’t good.

I should say something before he probably shuts himself again from the world. Did he misunderstand my silence? I wasn’t quiet to make him look like a fool.

“…Brahms?” I suddenly blurted out, waiting yet again for him to acknowledge me.

He didn’t though.

“Please, tuck me into bed.” The Heelshire whispered sheepishly, ignoring my call as his head still hung low. I glanced at the grandfather clock; it was already fifteen minutes past 1. I didn’t notice that it was already this late… That explains the raw emotion awhile ago—Brahms was already done for the day and was tired from battling his demons all throughout. He needed his fix that’s why he was so engaging a few moments back, touching and conversing with me the entire time. The man filled up his intimacy meter before he could retreat for bed.

“Please…” Brahms implored, as he sensed my reluctant behavior to end the night in awkward silence. He yawned tiredly, urging my consciousness to scold me. I felt bad that I was keeping him from taking his leave; yet I was happy that he was holding on to me.

Sometimes I wonder, among the two of us, who’s the real child?

In between the passing moments of his breathing and the ticking clock, my hand unconsciously reached for him, taking his palm against mine. I gave it a slight squeeze as I arose from my seat—my actions suggesting we leave the room. This caused the man to stiffen at my touch but follow slowly after my lead.

Brahms was aware that I didn’t fancy the darkness so he allowed me to leave the room first. He then swiftly flicked the lights off and closed the wooden plank as quickly as he could as if to keep the void away from me. I hung my head low as a smile sheepishly tugged at the corners of my mouth at his considerate gesture; it threatened to crack wide open as well as he stood beside me right after and carefully intertwining our hands tighter before we made our way to his old, childhood bedroom.

I honestly forgot about the ghostly figurine that the elderly couple showered with love and affection sitting in the rocking chair so seeing it once more in the dimly lit room made the hairs of my nape stand up. I instinctively looked away and placed my attention elsewhere, glancing at the man by my side. I felt his grip tighten against mine—somehow equally uncomfortable at the sight of his little porcelain alter ego.

Brahms turned to face me, his expression was as if to ask if I was being serious about a large man like himself to cramp himself up in an old tiny bed.

I returned a small smile before asking, “Where will I tuck you in then?”

Brahms looked away, closing his child self’s bedroom door as he pondered for a good spot.

It took awhile but the Heelshire ultimately pointed at the wall, earning a confused look from me.

Does he mean my chambers?

“…sleeping with you would be nice,” he suddenly piped, his voice trailing off as soon as it escaped his throat, watching my expression as if what he said would warrant a violent reaction.

Normally, if he was a stranger, I would’ve definitely politely refuse. I honestly didn’t give any thought that he’d do anything to me other than what he does during the day so I decided it would be okay. I’ll just tell him that there would be boundaries despite his need for this kind of intimacy to establish rapport.

“Oh, I guess that’s fair. The bed’s large enough for a few people after all.”

Brahms cocked his head in confusion, yet there was undoubtedly a shift in his disposition. There was a glint of happiness and excitement in his eyes that abandoned his expressionless façade.

“Well then, let’s get going.”

* * *

As I got out of the bathroom after changing into my pajamas, I saw Brahms fiddling with the tiny container that was sitting by the lamp on the nightstand. I pretended to dry my hair, sneaking a few peeks through my disheveled hair—he was like a cat, playing with its toy; as he successfully removed the lid, the man stared at the contents as he took a whiff.

“That’s embrocating ointment, do you like it?” I said, suppressing a giggle.

Brahms gave me a small nod. “It smells refreshing... Why do you need it?”

“I use it sometimes to fend off headaches.”

The man waited for me to add more details about the product, so I decided to entertain him.

“Don’t you just… get one of those days? Where your head is in absolute chaos and your mind just wants to implode? Well, it helps…and it’s best not to rely on strong medicine before you rest after all.”

“Yes, it’s dangerous alright…” the brunette added, rather absentmindedly. I wasn’t so sure whether Brahms was referring to the medicine or not.

Suddenly, the memory of the man’s unusual episodes dawned upon me. Surely he had it much worse.

“You can have that Brahms… I have another one.”

In an instant, the Heelshire seemed very much delighted as he hummed in appreciation. He closed his large palm, skin engulfing the tiny gift before placing it into the pocket of his sweatpants—Brahms then thanked me in almost a whisper.

“Thank you, I’ll treasure it.”

I smiled at the man as I placed the towel on the mirror, covering its reflection. I was still uncomfortable having a mirror directly facing the bed and that was my only intervention. Brahms took the opportunity of me facing him to shyly pat the side of the bed, stipulating that he wanted me close. I bit my lip, trying to calm myself before grabbing the hairbrush in sight and made my way onto the mattress.

I leaned against the headboard as Brahms lied by my side, practically making himself at home under the warm covers. A relaxed expression was peacefully splashed across his features indicated that he was very much comfortable.

After combing my hair, I looked down to my side, about to ask what Brahms wanted for his bed time story but I was caught off guard by his eyes staring straight back at me. My face felt warm as embarrassment washed over me causing my voice to break.

“W-what would you like to hear tonight, Brahms?”

“I’d like to learn more…” the man started, but quickly stopped in hesitation.

“…about what?” I asked, curious as to what was on his mind. Brahms scanned the room as silence filled the air inside my chambers—as if he was about to ask something he shouldn’t. My shoulders deflated a bit as I slump my form slightly above the man; I gave him an encouraging nod and a patient smile to reassure him that we’re friends now. He’s free to ask for whatever his innocent heart desires and I’m here to make sure that he’d feel that it’d never hurt to ask.

Brahms took heed and spoke with more conviction.

“I want to learn everything about you.”

A chuckle escaped my lips. “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I am. I love you.”

Brahms then closed his eyes, unaware of the rampant beating of my heart.

There was a glint in Brahms eyes that imperceptibly appeared as he said those words so naturally. I wouldn’t have caught it if I wasn’t paying close attention to his form as I hovered over him. Hearing those words escape his lips made my heart leap once again, but my mind argued that it was just a compliment.

Deep down I knew that he still doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He may love me, but maybe only as a nanny. He’s still not familiar with me besides my name and other trivial information, but he doesn’t really know anything about me or my background.

I’m nothing special and probably if there was a different person in my place, he’d declare his love for her all the same.

A bitter smile formed onto my lips as I realized that I have fallen into my sick hobby’s trap.

…I’m over thinking again.

Does it really bother me that much that he’s expressing his emotions so openly, mistaking platonic admiration for genuine love? Though it may be selfish of me to assume that he actually loves me…

I shook my head fervently. I shouldn’t even think about these things. I should enjoy the peacefulness of the night…

Swallowing the dry lump in my throat, I began to share whatever Brahms wanted to find out.


	25. Commiseration (Brahms' POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the wait! I've become a busy bee as of late but do not worry!
> 
> The coming chapters will surely come within the week as the project I'm doing at work is almost finished! I've also finished the draft of the entire story, revising things here and there. I hope to have a regular upload schedule by or after next week. Besides the story itself, even though I missed some special occasions (Christmas, New Years, Valentines... etc.), I will still include them some other time as I have estimated that the story will end around 2019. =)
> 
> Thank you for continuing to support my story! All of your hits, kudos, and comments mean so much to me!

I never would have thought that things could end up the way it is now.

At first, I thought I didn’t have the courage to express myself. But thereafter I felt selfish enough to force my feelings upon the girl. Ignoring how she felt. All of my emotions felt like they were overflowing, spilling from my form—urging for it to explode if I didn’t do anything about it.

That’s why I felt a heavy burden thereafter. After hearing my confession… no, my declaration, she simply just stared at me, probably shocked. The girl before me was silent, either pondering or being considerate.

I’ve done it now. How I had the gall to do what I did was beyond me.

The feeling of running away was rampant in my gut but my legs felt like jelly… just like the sugary syrup from her honey bananas. Oh how I loved everything she makes for me.

I felt feverish—like I was about to faint. I’ve never done anything like this before and all I want to do is to keep touching her and be by her side.

So before I scare her away, I’d like her to tuck me into bed.

But it seems like fate had a conspiracy against me. As if it was having delight in torturing my putrid soul. Whoever up above knew I ached for her and decided it was a fun game to tease me. It must have been my imagination but the girl seemed like she was hoping for more before the night ends.

I could feel something break within me.

That was the moment when I decided that I wanted to take her to my room as soon as possible so that we would spend more time together and perhaps fall asleep in each other’s arms. I pointed at the wall, awaiting her response.

She misunderstood though, thinking that I was referring to her chambers.

Thankfully the monstrous burning sensation brewing up inside me calmed down, and I was content just that I was lying beside her in her company.

I was happy that she welcomed the idea of us sleeping together. No matter how much the tiny voice at the back of my head protested, there was no turning back now. All I have to do is to control my urges.

It’s a known fact that a gentleman would never act this way.

What I was doing was shameless, tactless, and my all means flagrant. I was very much aware of the danger yet I still chose to be this selfish.

I took pleasure in fiddling with the things sitting on the night stand. There was a small clock, the lamp mummy hoarded to decorate all of the rooms with… I destroyed one of them but that doesn’t matter, the girl’s spectacles, her mobile phone, and a tiny circular container.

That one piqued my interest the most so I decided to take a look at its contents.

I was so distracted that I didn’t notice Josephine coming out of the bathroom. My eyes only focused on her presence when she spoke up; she must’ve noticed that I liked what was in my hands… so she gave me it to me as a gift.

How truly generous she was.

The night never felt this peaceful before and if this goes on, I’m quite confident that I will dream pleasantly as I rest.

Something bothered me though, Josephine spaced out from time to time… particularly whenever I said I loved her.

Does she not believe me?

I could never lie about that though. All I know now is that I want to establish a ground. I want to get to know her—absolutely everything about her.

So I wanted her life as my bed time story for tonight.

“My life’s not that interesting,” she laughs, almost in a scoff. “You’re the first to be so interested in it honestly.”

‘Of course I’d be invested. I love you.’

I wanted to say that, as the urge was far too great to hold back, but I think I should remain quiet for now. Opening up does take up a lot of energy. I wouldn’t want to hinder anything; from the various sea of emotions that would splash her face, to how she mentions every episode of her life.

That is… if she allows my doltish request.

“Well, don’t regret it, I suppose…” was all she said as she reluctantly started her life story.

* * *

Everything went by in a blur as the girl’s haste speech became more rushed due to her brewing discomfort and nervousness. I could already tell she was always the wallflower who craved a new adventure every now and then, a paradox in herself. She’s also not used to divulge information that concerned her and always kept to her own most of the time as her stories suggest.

She’s a young woman currently in her early twenties, originally a preschool teacher from the eastern part of the globe. As a loving and warm daughter, she took care of her grandfather before leaving the country to forget about her loss and simultaneously mend her wounds she acquired from it.

She wandered around, travelling from England to Germany alone, going sightseeing, and sometimes meeting with her friend at Spain, Italy or France. It was always up to Catherine, per se, who lived so conveniently at Portugal if not at British Columbia.

Josephine then took on simple occupations during her nomadic life across Europe. She worked as a secretary for a publishing firm at the Netherlands, she then settled down here at Wales to help around a flower shop and sort groceries at a friend’s store… before coming into my life.

There was always a lull moment every time she pauses to recollect her memories as much as she could. I waited patiently though, since I was already asking for too much.

It took a few minutes before I could hear her sleepiness lace itself with her words. She was currently sharing her time with friends around here, before she yawned a few times, completely stopping her story. She summed up that Antoinette and Malcolm were the only ones who stuck around after she left her previous occupations and that she was thankful that they cared about her so much.

The girl closed her eyes as she lay beside me, facing me before whispering a silent apology and that she was far too tired to continue. I silently watched the tranquil canvas of her calm features as she rested, gripping the comforter over us to resist the urge to caress her face.

“I’ll tell you about Emily some other time, alright?”

Wait… did she say Emily?

“Who’s Emily?” I suddenly piped, my chest suddenly feeling tight. My untimely interruption caused the girl to open her eyes and give me a little smile.

“Emily… my special friend at the flower shop… Antoinette’s cousin.”

Thinking about it, Antoinette seemed familiar as well. It didn’t take long before a sharp pain started to faintly pulsate against my skull. It was bearable though, since I was by my solace.

That couldn’t be the same one is it?

I gathered up the courage to ask my final request for the night. “I’m sorry, but can you tell me a bit about her?”

Beads of sweat formed under my disheveled locks at the mention of Emily previously owning a toy factory among other things that catered to children. Josephine then added that her special friend loved flowers a whole lot more, funding her cousin’s shop.

It was enough to further cement my notions about Emily.

“By any chance, is her name Emily Cribbs?”

The tiredness from Josephine’s chocolate eyes abandoned her, surprised that I knew an impression about her special friend. That was when I knew that we were talking about the same person.

“Are you two… friends?”

I didn’t answer her though, as the headache was far too grave. I clenched my forehead tightly, as my vision began to blur, unreservedly forgetting the gift the girl has generously given me earlier to fend off painful spasms such as this.

Josephine quickly shot up, harshly opening the drawer before taking out her other embrocating ointment. She fiddled with it clumsily, ignoring the fact that the lid had already escaped from her grasp and rolled itself down the wooden floorboards.

She took an abundant amount and held it against my nose, telling me to inhale the minty herbal scent. After awhile, she took my hands and placed them on the comforter, before rubbing her thumbs on my temples.

“Calm down, Brahms…” she whispered as she continued to fervently… yet gently massage my head, attempting to comfort me. “Everything will be alright. Look at me…”

I opened my eyes as tears threatened to form at its corners.

“I want you to breathe, okay?”

She told me to breathe yet what I did was something far too different. I haphazardly grabbed her form, engulfing her into a tight embrace, unbeknown to me that I was probably crushing her.

Josephine didn’t protest though, her form frozen at my harsh clutch.

I felt woozy as my brain wasn’t registering anything properly. Everything was off and I felt myself slowly slipping to unconsciousness.


End file.
